"I'll quit."
"I won't nag you about it. It's just you have such a good voice. I don't want you to get throat cancer."
"I know."
"I want you to be around, so I can grow old with you."
I stare at the seam in his collar. "You want to grow old with me?"
"After all the years I wasted, you think I'm going to let you go now? You're not going anywhere! You're stuck with me!"
"My very own leech," I murmur, inhaling his scent again.
"Damn right," he says fervently.
Reluctantly, I pull away from him. "I'm sorry, Tammy. I need to get going. I'm going to be late..."
"Take me with you," he says, and I laugh, "Really, what are you going to do all night besides be bored out of your mind? Your mom's home now!"
"Talk to you," he says softly.
I stand on tiptoe and kiss him.
"Really, Jamie. Let me come with you. I don't want to be away from you. I..." He falters, then he straightens his posture, and with more conviction, he says, "I think I should come with you."
"Tammy, I'm going to be fine, I promise. I won't do anything to hurt myself. Everything's okay now. I feel better. We're going to be okay. I love you. I mean it. I do. Don't be scared. I would never hurt myself, because I know it would hurt you. I won't do that to you."
He bear-hugs me again. "I love you."
He's trembling.
"I love you, Tammy. I'll love you always, all my life."
He resists as I gently push him out my front door. "Jamie, I'm worried... please?"
"Nooo, go on home and get some rest. Eat something!"
"Jamie, it's no trouble. I can drive you. I can hang out in the lounge, take a nap in there if I get sleepy."
"You're too sweet."
"Baby, I'm scared!"
I push the door ajar and examine him. He really is afraid.
Unsettled by what I'm seeing, I sigh, "Tammy, I'm going to be okay. Please believe me. I'm not going to hurt you. I swear..."
"It's not that. I have a bad feeling..." A tear slips from his left eye.
"About what?"
"I don't know, but..."
"Tammy, everything's okay now. You go on home and I'll see you in the morning. I've got to feed the kids, and..."
"I'll help you!" he offers, like a helpful little boy.
"Go," I laugh, "Or I'll never make it to work."
He finally slinks away, like a puppy with his tail between his legs. He looks so crestfallen, I almost call him back inside, because really, I'd love for him to stay.
But then we'd start talking again, or kissing, or fucking, and then I'd really be late. No. I need to get my ass in gear and go. I pull off my odoriferous scrub top and throw on a new one. I pour the kids' food, give them each a goodbye pet, grab the kitchen garbage.
My cell chimes from my pocket. "Are you on your way yet?"
"No, I just fed the kids. I got to take out some trash, then I'll get going."
"I'm worried. I can't put my finger on it, but..."
"Tammy, please," I entreat. "Don't think about that video. Put it out of your mind."
"If only," he says solemnly.
"I'm okay. I have you, and I know I'm going to be okay."
"Are you really sure I can't come to work with you?" he asks.
"Tammy, I'd feel like shit if you spent a miserable night trying to sleep in one of those lousy Geri-chairs. No, please, try to stop worrying and get some sleep. I'll be home around eight-ish."
"Will you at least give me a call when you get there? Let me know you made it?"
"Of course. I'll call you, sweetie."
"Better yet, call in sick," he says. I'd think he was being playful, but I hear his fear coming through the line.
"I can't, sweet. I'd love to stay home with you, all night long, but I can't. I promised them I could work, so I have to go... they're going to be pissed as it is when I show up late."
"So? Let me. They can't fire you. You're the only nurse they have that knows what he's doing!"
"You're silly. Tammy?"
"Hmmm..."
"I've never pretended with you. I did things to deal with feeling dirty, but it was because of my parents."
"I know that, Baby," he says. I know, we'd just been over this, but it's still sitting there, on my chest. I have to be sure he knows...
"I love having sex with you. You have to believe me. I don't know how you can believe me, but I've always loved you. I always wanted to be with you. If they hadn't made me feel so... I would never have had all these issues. I'm not afraid of you. I'm not repulsed by you. You're the most beautiful man I've ever seen in my life. I want to be with you all the time, forever, for the rest of my life! I love being near you, I love being close to you..."
I hear him crying.
"I'm just so afraid you're going to decide... that this isn't... that it won't..."
Now I'm crying.
"Uh! No, Baby. You're stuck with me. I mean it."
"Good," I sniffle. "I don't ever want to be able to rid myself of you."
"You won't," Tammy says wetly.
"You said people lose their V when they make love for the first time with someone they really care about, right? So maybe that means you were a virgin too, that first night with me... in a way, you know..."
"Maybe it does," he agrees. "We pretended, Jamie, to get through things we didn't want to do, to survive, to prove something to ourselves, whatever... But we've never pretended with each other."
"No."
"I love being with you, I do."
"I swore to myself, when I was a kid, I'd never have sex again," I confess. "I'd never ever do those gross, disgusting things with anyone ever again, and then you... and I... I never thought I'd ever love sex."
"I never loved sex until Christmas Eve," Tammy murmurs. "I mean, I had a lot of sex, Jamie, you know that. I wish I could have been like you, but... Anyway, I never loved sex, until you, because it's so much more..."
"It is so much more. I love being close to you. I love the way you crush me close to you after, and it's so warm, wet, sticky... and the way it smells..."
"Why don't you call in sick already!" he grumps, then his voice lowers enticingly. "You know you want to."
My knees don't have cartilage holding them together anymore. All I want is for him to drive his ass back over here and fuck me silly. "Honey, I have to go. I'm so late."
"Seriously, Jamie. I'm worried."
"Please, Tammy, don't worry anymore."
"I..."
"You're the best."
"Jamie..."
"For the last time, I'm going to be fine. I love you."
"I love you too. Don't forget to call me!"
"I won't. Promise."
"The very instant you walk in!"
"The very instant. I promise, Tammy."
"Okay." He's relaxing a little. "I love you." I hear a kissing sound on his end.
"Love you too," I say, and kiss my cell phone.
I gather up my keys and the kitchen garbage. I remember the towel rack I tore off the bathroom wall. I scoop it out of the tub, mindful of the reeky puke splattered and drying all over the white fibreglass. I say another rushed goodbye to the kids and lock the front door behind me.
thirty-three:
tammy
(december 29 and 30)
He didn't want me to go to work with him.
It's not that I believe Jamie's going to off himself as soon as he's out of my sight. I do believe he loves me. I do believe he wants to live.
But... I can't shake this feeling as I drive home.
Mom's sound asleep, so I move quietly as I microwave some leftover vegetable beef soup and settle in front of the TV.
I can't eat. The soup is tasteless. I shove it away.
I'm upset, that's all. I'm upset over the events of the day—the video, Yvette's deplorable behaviour, the fight Jamie and I had, the threat of suicide...
The Bugs Bunny cartoo
ns aren't helping a bit. I can't get this nameless fear to disembark. I snatch our portable house phone and call Jamie's house again. No answer. By now he must be on his way. I dial his cell. No answer. Shit! He's either got the damn thing turned off or it's on vibrate and he can't hear it because he's got the radio blasting.
The prayer bursts out of me. Please God, please get Jamie to work safely, and make him remember to call me when he gets there. Please...
Fifteen minutes go by, and I can't settle down. I call St. Paul's and ask for three south, where Jamie usually is stationed. I know he can't be there this soon, but I want to leave a message for them to remind him to call me. The nurse who answers says, "I haven't seen Jamie up here."
"I know. He was running late tonight, but he's on his way now. Just have him call me, please."
"Okay," says the surprised nurse.
I go back to watching Bugs Bunny. Okay, now Jamie's had more than enough time to get there.
I fall asleep waiting for his call.
I dream of Jamie, or rather, his voice, calling to me from a dark echoed place, a place I can't see, no matter how I squint. "Tammy? Tammy, where are you? Tammy? Tammy, Tammy, when are you coming?"
I leap to full alertness. The clock says five-thirty. I curse myself as I grab my phone and dial St. Paul's again.
"No, Jamie's not here," a new nurse says. "Haven't seen him all night... isn't he off tonight, Linda?"
A voice nearby asks, "Is that the guy who called last night?"
"Yeah!" I say. "I called last night. Didn't he show up?"
Linda gets on. "I think Jamie is off tonight, sir."
My heart is pummelling. "No, he's supposed to be there. He was on call," I say rapidly, frantically. "They called him at about ten last night to come in at eleven! He left the house at around ten-thirty or a quarter to eleven, so he was running late, but he should be there!"
"Just a sec," says Linda.
A familiar, deep, brusque voice suddenly snaps, "Who is this?!" It's that fat old hag, Paulina, a.k.a. Nurse Ratchet.
"I'm a friend of Jamie Pearce's," I try to explain. "He's supposed to be there working tonight. He was supposed to call me and let me know he got there okay, but he hasn't called. Is he there?"
"He's supposed to be on the fourth floor!" she snarls.
"Oh! Can I have the number up there?"
"He never showed up!"
My heart lurches against my Adam's apple. "What?! Are you sure?!"
"I am the super tonight!" she declares in her haughty nurse voice. "So, yes, I'm sure! I've had to rearrange my entire staffing roster because he no-call, no-showed!"
"He was supposed to be there," I pant worriedly. "He was running late, but he was on his way there!"
"Well, he didn't make it here, that's all I know," sneers Nurse Ratchet. "He'd better not make this a habit, or he'll be looking for a new job!"
Throttling the urge to cuss her out, I hang up, spring into my car, drive like a demon across town, out to Jamie's house. It's dark, lonesome, isolated, too secluded. The only lights are the muted orange of the streetlamp about fifty yards away, and the weak yellow of the porch light. His car is gone from the drive. I park along the curb in front, near the bins. There is no answer at the front door.
I call the hospital again, this time asking for the fourth floor.
"No, he didn't come in," the nurse says. "He was a no show tonight."
"Are you sure? He was going to come in. He wouldn't just no show! Has he ever no showed before?"
"Here, let me have you talk to the supervisor."
"No! I..."
Too late. "Who is this?!" Paulina again.
"I'm still looking for Jamie Pearce."
"I told you not a half hour ago that he's not here! He skipped!"
"He wouldn't do that!" I shout. "I know that for a fact because I asked him to call in sick tonight and he wouldn't. He said he promised to work tonight and that he couldn't back out!"
"Well," she scoffs, "There's always a first time! Now, if you'll excuse me, we're busy up here!"
"I'm telling you, he's not playing hooky! He's missing!"
"That's not my problem! Why don't you try calling the queer clubs!"
"I'm reporting you for that!" I snap. "Count on it!"
"Do whatever you want. Just tell your little friend he's being written up for the mess he's created for me tonight!"
"I'm wasting time talking to you. I need to call the police!"
"You're wasting my time," the bitch grunts, and I hang up on her. Too bad it's only my cell. If it were a big, heavy landline receiver, I'd break her eardrum slamming it down. I'm in tears of outrage. She's such a cold, callous, mean old bitch!
The sky is lightening. I go to every window, trying to see into his house, shouting, "Jamie!" The curtains are all drawn, the blinds all closed. I can't even see if any of the kitties are in there. I try the front and back doors, both are locked. I crouch down and open the cat-flap Lloyd installed in the back door. "Jamie? Jamie, are you home?" No response. None of the cats appear either.
I have no choice. I take a loosened brick from one of the flowerbeds and hurl it through a back window, expecting an alarm to shrill at me. It's completely still. I wonder if he has a silent alarm. I hope so. I want the cops here immediately. Hoping none of the cats were near the glass, I climb through into the dining room.
Please, God, if someone's hurting him, please make them stop! If he's dead, please let it be he didn't suffer long! He's suffered enough! I sob in a rage at the remembered and the unseen and unknown. No. Let it be Jamie's okay. Please don't take him away from me!
His cats are all fine, but my sudden anxious movements and my sobbing shouts disturb them as I dart from room to room, searching, and they file out their little pet door.
There is no sign of Jamie, and other than the damage he did in the bathroom and what I did to the window, no sign of disorder.
The police haven't been lured here by any silent alarm, so I go out in the front yard and call. The sky is icy, mother of pearl, as the sun slowly ascends. I suddenly notice how the cold is biting into my hands, turning them red, chapping the skin over my knuckles.
"Has he been missing for twenty-four hours?" asks the officer.
"No, he's been missing since between ten-thirty and eleven last night. He didn't show up for his job in Sac."
"Are you sure?"
"Sir, I've called twice, and they insist he never arrived last night. That's not like him at all."
"Has he ever done this kind of thing before?"
"I just told you, no," I sigh.
"Does he make it a habit of being late to work?"
"Not that I know of."
"You don't sound like you've known him that long."
"Well, I've known him for many years, sort of."
"Sort of?"
"Listen." My patience is wearing dangerously thin. "I have a really bad feeling. I think something's wrong!"
"Where does he live?"
"I'm at his home now," I say, feeling sheepish for not knowing his address by heart, for having to look up above his front door for the number. "2507 Willow Road, Somerville. His car is gone and he's not answering the door. I broke his dining room window and went in to look for him. He's not here."
"Sir, you broke in?" the policeman asks sharply.
"I had to. I'm scared!"
"Hmmm... Aside from you breaking in, any signs of foul play?"
"Not that I can see."
"Well, sir, I'm really not sure what's going on, but we'll send a unit to the residence in just a moment. Stay on the line with me."
"He wouldn't ditch work, officer! He never misses work!"
"Just try to remain calm..."
"He never calls in sick, even when he's sick as a dog!" I insist.
"Alright, sir, calm down."
"I have a really bad feeling!"
"I need you to calm down, sir."
I've been shouting, but I can't help it!
"We've got a car on the way. But I have a feeling that if you would have just waited it out, given him a chance to call you and explain..."
"He was supposed to call me when he arrived to work!" I bellow. "He promised me!"
Maybe he's trying to call me now, I should be keeping this line clear.
But if he were trying to get through, or Mom, to let me know he's called the house, my cell would tell me that!
"He'll probably find his way home this morning," the officer says cheerfully.
What is Jamie, a lost dog?! A barfly who can't find his car?!
As if the cop can read minds, he asks, "Does your friend drink?"
"Not when he's supposed to work."
"And where does he work again?"
"St. Paul's in Sacramento!" I repeat as patiently as I possibly can.
"Was he upset about anything last night?"
My heart palpitates painfully. "We had a... disagreement... but it's resolved."
"Resolved," parrots the cop. "Are you sure?"
"Yes!" If I don't have to disclose any of the private tidbits about our difficulties, I'm not about to. All it would do is give the policeman ammo to construct a petty gay love-spat theory.
"Maybe he's not as sure as you are about that," offers the officer. "What did you two fight about?"
"It wasn't a fight, it was a disagreement," I snap. "Huge difference."
"Okay, what was your disagreement about, then?"
"It's very complicated," I say cautiously. "The important thing is, everything's okay between us. And yes, he knows it as well as I do."
The way I've worded my last sentences has clued him in. "Are you his domestic partner?"
His calm disarms me. He's not being catty, not insinuating. Only asking. "He's my boyfriend, yes," I reply.
"Alright, sir, I understand why you're worried. You're really sure he's not angry at you, that he didn't leave you?"
"No sir, everything was fine when I left him last night. I know it was fine. He was just going to take the trash out, and then he was supposed to go to work." I'm fighting not to start blubbering like a baby.
"Listen," the policeman says in a mild voice, "There's not a lot we can do at this time. Perhaps he's on his way home now. He might arrive in the morning..."
"It's already going on six-forty! It is morning! He's been missing for at least seven hours!"
"Can you tell me why you didn't call us last night, if he's been gone that long?"
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