The Final Act

by Dee, Bonnie

  “Of course not, but you’re lonely and maybe you think about it sometimes in a strange city like this. A random encounter. Maybe just a blow job. He’d never know.” Paul’s mouth slipped over then off the end of the bottle.

  Denny’s gaze riveted on Paul’s mouth and the tongue that darted out to lick his soft lips. Was this guy some dark angel sent by the devil to tempt him?

  “I’d know,” he said faintly, echoing what he’d told Tanner.

  “Is it really cheating, though?” Paul leaned closer over the tipsy tabletop. “What if you just kissed someone a little? Does that count?”

  Denny was drawn into those gleaming, black eyes. He couldn’t remember the appropriate answer. “No. I mean, yes it counts, and no, I wouldn’t do it.”

  “Mm.” Paul sucked in his bottom lip and let it go. “Too bad.” He leaned back in his chair, releasing Denny’s eyes, and took another sip of beer. “So, tell me about being on a national tour. How is that? What do you do when you’re not onstage?”

  Denny lifted his beer. “This. There’s not a lot else to do. Although, I have seen the Taj Mahal made completely from chocolate at a food fair, and the world’s largest baseball bat in Louisville. It’s an interesting country we live in.”

  Paul laughed. “Are you sure you don’t want to get out of here, go back to my place and hang for a while? You must get sick of hotel rooms.” He held his hands up. “I promise not to assault your virtue. We’ll just talk.”

  Denny weighed his options. He feared what talking might lead to and didn’t know if he had the fortitude tonight to be a good boy. He’d passed too many long, lonely nights. On the other hand, surely he had the self-control to choose how far he went, and it would be a pleasure to escape the smoky bar and sit in someone’s living room like a real guest.

  “Sure. Why not? Talking to somebody outside of the company will be a vacation in itself.”

  “Getting pretty sick of each other?”

  Denny looked across the room at the table of his co-workers, who were roaring with laughter over something Chris had said. “You know how you can’t choose your relatives? Same thing.”

  As Logan rose from his seat and led the group in a rendition of “We Are All” for which he’d invented bawdy lyrics, Denny grimaced and shook his head. “Jesus, yes! Can I please come home with you?”

  Two hours later, Denny collapsed on his back, sweating and panting, his orgasmic high already dissolving into crippling guilt. He lay on Paul’s bed, staring at the ceiling. He closed his eyes and opened them again, but he was still there, his unfaithfulness branded on his heart like a scarlet A.

  A warm hand caressed his hip. “Wow! You really needed that,” Paul said. “Now aren’t you glad you dropped by?”

  Denny glanced down at Paul’s long, elegant fingers, so different from Tom’s square, blunt ones. They’d felt exciting and new roaming all over his body, but now he didn’t want them touching him. He wished he could think of a polite way to get out of there.

  Idiot! Fucking idiot! How could he have thought all they would do was talk? From the moment he’d agreed to go with Paul, he’d marched straight into the jaws of temptation.

  “What’s the matter? You’re quiet. Tell me you’re not feeling guilty.”

  Denny looked at him with a significant lift of his eyebrows.

  “You shouldn’t be.” Paul’s hand roved up his stomach and ended on his nipple, toying with it, pulling it lightly. “Who knows what your friend’s been up to while you’ve been away? There must be some reason he wouldn’t come see you when you invited him.”

  Denny exhaled. “Whatever’s wrong between us sure as hell isn’t going to be fixed by me doing this.” He slid from beneath Paul’s hand and sat up. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude, but I have to go now.”

  “All right.” Paul reached out to touch his back. “But don’t feel bad. You were lonely and needed some company tonight. I think your friend would understand. This doesn’t affect what’s between you and him.”

  Denny didn’t respond to the twisted logic. He climbed from the bed, removed the used condom and gathered his clothes and shoes. After dressing quickly, he turned to Paul, sprawled across the bed like a handsome pin-up.

  “Thanks. It was nice talking with you and…everything.” He indicated the bed.

  Paul smiled. “Sorry it made you feel guilty. I had a great time.”

  On the taxi ride back to the hotel, Denny flipped his cell phone open and closed. It was after two in the morning. He couldn’t call Tom and wake him. What in hell would he say, anyway? I missed you so much I fucked another guy? I’m sorry and can we make up now, please?

  Even worse, he might call and get no answer. Imagining Tom out doing what he’d just done was unbearable. Paul’s words haunted him.

  “Who knows what your friend’s been up to while you’ve been away? There must be some reason he wouldn’t come see you when you invited him.”

  Denny paid the taxi driver and walked to his hotel room. He’d never felt so low in his life. He could never tell Tom what he’d done, but he couldn’t keep it a secret either. There was no solution to the fiasco he’d created that didn’t involve shame, guilt and pain. However bad things had been that morning, he’d ended the evening by making them much worse.

  Scene Eight: Cleveland

  Jake sat in a dimly-lit bar, the kind of smoky, comfortable hole-in-the-wall that had remained unchanged through the years while trendier bars came and went, the kind of bar that felt like home to him. He sipped his beer and stared at the discolored images on the TV where a baseball game was in progress. He didn’t register what he was watching. He was considering bailing on Gretchen and wondering how bad the fallout from that would be.

  She wanted him to meet her family now that the show had reached Ohio. Her hometown was about an hour away. They were to leave immediately after the show tonight and spend a few free days between performances with the Hamiltons. They would be there two nights and about a day and a half. More than enough time for her family to realize what a loser their girl had hooked up with.

  Jake had agreed to go, but figured he’d find some way to wiggle out of it. So here he was drinking at a bar, his bags still unpacked, when he should be meeting Gretchen. She’d be looking for him by now. Rashid or Steve would tell her he’d left the theater immediately after the show. She might think he’d misunderstood that she wanted to leave straight from the theater. Maybe she’d think he went back to the hotel to finish packing.

  Since he didn’t have a cell phone, Gretchen would try to reach him at his room, but the phone would ring and ring with no answer. She’d be anxious, wondering where he was, and when he never showed up, maybe she’d leave without him. Maybe she’d cry as she drove to her parents’ home in Chesterton, upset by the cowardly way he’d disappeared as much as by the fact that he hadn’t gone with her.

  Jake finished his beer and considered ordering another. If he did, he’d be committing to blowing off the trip. But if he didn’t order the beer, he’d still have time to get back to the hotel and toss some clothes in a bag. Could he really take the pressure of meeting her family?

  Gretchen talked about them a lot, her parents, brothers and sisters and assorted aunts, uncles and cousins. They were a part of her, and she a part of them. Jake didn’t want to share her with fifty other people, all of them watching him, an outsider, a stranger involved with their sweet Gretchen. He’d be scrutinized like bacteria under a microscope.

  The bartender stopped in front of him. “Want another?”

  “What time is it?”

  The bartender glanced at his wrist.

  Jake pictured Gretchen’s big, sad eyes gazing at him reproachfully. “Never mind. I’ve got to go.”

  When he reached the hotel, she was waiting outside the door of his room with her bags. A worried frown knit her eyebrows. “Where have you been?”

  “Stopped for a drink,” Jake admitted.

  “We were supposed to leave ri
ght after the show.” Her frown deepened. “You don’t want to go.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you don’t want to.”

  “Of course, I do,” Jake lied. “It’s just…meeting your family is a little intimidating.”

  “Don’t be nervous. They’re great and easy to talk to.” She slipped her arms around his waist and hugged. “You’ll love them. And they’ll love you.”

  Jake held her, so soft and warm in his arms. Her vanilla scent wafted to his nose. He didn’t want to spend the next couple of days without her. How bad could this visit be? He’d try to present himself to the Hamiltons as the kind of guy who was worthy of Gretchen.

  “Sorry I kept you waiting,” he murmured against her hair.

  By the time they rented a car and drove to Chesterton, it was after two in the morning. Gretchen’s family home was a brick two-storey in a residential neighborhood with immaculately manicured lawns well-lit by streetlights. A light burned by the front door, illuminating a porch with wicker chairs and a welcome mat before the door.

  Jake’s first clue he’d entered a foreign world was when Gretchen let them in without having to unlock the door. The foyer light was on, and her mother had left a note stuck to the newel post at the foot of the stairs. She read it then handed it to Jake with a smile.

  “Welcome home, sweetheart!” the note said. “I’ll probably wake up when you get here, but if I don’t, there’s leftover lasagna and apple crisp in the fridge in case you’re hungry. The guest room is made up for Jake. Towels and washcloths are in the linen cupboard. See you in the morning. Love, Mom”.

  “Guest room?” he asked. Gretchen hadn’t mentioned anything about separate rooms, but he should have guessed. These were traditional people.

  She looked sheepish. “Their house. Their rules. Sorry. It’s only for a couple of nights.” She put her arms around him and lifted her face for a kiss.

  As his lips settled over hers, Jake considered that a little schmoozing with the family was a small price to pay to make Gretchen happy.

  She finally broke off the kiss, but still stood with her arms around his neck. “Do you want some of Mom’s lasagna?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Watch some TV?”

  Jake pictured them falling asleep entwined together on the couch and her mother discovering them in the morning. “Maybe we should just go to bed. It’s pretty late.”

  As he followed her upstairs, Jake thought it was going to be a long two days. She showed him his room, and they kissed goodnight in front of the door.

  He pushed open the door and entered a home-baked, doily-covered fantasy. The room was rose-scented with lacy curtains at the windows and a thick, downy comforter on the bed. Jake lifted a handful of potpourri from the dish on the dresser and let it sift through his fingers. Only a few minutes in suburbia and already he felt like an alien.

  He set his bag on the floor and threw himself across the bed, fully clothed—a dark blot on the light, floral comforter. Gazing at the pristine white ceiling, he pictured the water stains and cracks in the plaster of just about every bedroom he’d ever slept in. This place was Stepford perfect and almost as scary. He sure as hell didn’t belong here.

  In the morning, he woke to the smell of coffee and bacon wafting through the house. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since mid-afternoon the day before.

  Jake stripped off yesterday’s clothes, smoke-filled from the time spent in the bar, and dressed in clean jeans and a T-shirt. He went down the hall and knocked on Gretchen’s bedroom door, imagining a canopy four-poster bed and ruffles on every available surface, but she didn’t answer his knock so he followed the scent of bacon and coffee downstairs to the kitchen.

  A small, plump woman with short, blonde hair, stood at the stove, her back toward him. Clearly Gretchen didn’t get her height from her mother.

  Gretchen was leaning against the counter, talking to her mom, a cup of coffee in one hand. Her bright smile greeted him.

  “Hey, sweetie. You’re up!” Smiling, she put her coffee mug on the counter, went to Jake and hugged him.

  Sweetie? She never called him that. His hands rested at her waist, uncomfortable there. He wanted to pull her clinging arms from his neck before her mom saw. Then Gretchen moved away.

  Laura Hamilton turned from the stove. “Good morning, Jake.” She set down her spatula and crossed the kitchen, holding out her hand and smiling. “I’ve heard so many good things about you.”

  Really? “Me, too,” he said. “Gretchen talks about her family all the time. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” He forced a smile and reached for her hand.

  Mrs. Hamilton took his hand in hers and gazed into his eyes.

  Jake felt she could see right through his facade. Her eyes were sharp and knowing, detecting all his flaws. He could almost hear her thinking, “Who is this guy and what does Gretchen see in him?”

  But she smiled and said, “We’re having a get-together this evening so you can meet everybody. The tribe can be a little overwhelming all at once, but don’t let them scare you.” She winked. “They rarely eat visitors.”

  “Mom, you’re so weird.” Gretchen laughed and took Jake’s arm. “Sit down and have some breakfast, then I’ll show you around.”

  He was glad to have something to do. He thought he might keep eating all morning to avoid having to talk. He engulfed a huge meal of bacon, eggs, hash browns and toast while Gretchen and her mother chattered together like birds.

  “Gretchen tells us you’re originally from New Jersey,” Mrs. Hamilton said, trying to draw him into the conversation.

  Jake nodded.

  She didn’t ask more about his family so Gretchen must have told her he didn’t like to talk about them. “She says you’ve played with a number of bands in New York.”

  “Yeah.”

  “That must be an interesting career, being a guitarist.”

  “Sometimes.”

  “When I was a girl, I didn’t just have a crush on the Bee Gees. I wanted to be one of the Gibbs, even though I couldn’t play any instruments.” She laughed.

  “The Bee Gees? Oh my gosh, Mom, you’re so lame.”

  Mrs. Hamilton was working so hard to make conversation, Jake made an effort, too. He shared a couple of stories about his life as a musician that wouldn’t shock her, then turned the discussion toward her.

  “You’re a librarian?”

  “Yes. It’s not very exciting, but I love being around books, and I’m a natural organizer so I don’t mind the minutia of library work.”

  Jake tried to think of something to say about such a boring job. “It sounds…peaceful.”

  “Yes, it is.” She smiled. “Plus I get to keep tabs on everyone in the area. No one checks out a book without leaving some gossip behind.”

  “Well,” Gretchen interrupted. “Jake, why don’t I show you around our town? That should take about ten minutes.”

  Jake jumped on the chance to escape the house and the awkward conversation and be alone with Gretchen. “Sure. I’d like that.”

  Chesterton was like a picture postcard. The storefronts were neat and bright and the streets clean and litter-free. There was a little park in the middle of the town square with a fountain splashing.

  As they walked along the main street, people they passed greeted Gretchen and congratulated her on her success. They asked how the tour was going and some said they planned to come to the show in Cleveland. Gretchen was a celebrity, a local girl made good.

  She introduced each person to Jake, explaining the connections to her family. The town seemed to be full of her friends, neighbors, former teachers or classmates. The open friendliness of the people they met and the way they were all linked together somehow was beyond Jake’s frame of reference. What would it be like to grow up in a place like this, where everyone knew and cared for you?

  Gretchen introduced him to her uncle and the staff at his car lot. He said any time she’
d had enough of show biz, he’d have a place for her at the dealership. After that they met her father at the bank where he worked and he took them to lunch.

  Andrew Hamilton seemed less welcoming than his wife. His eyes assessed Jake and found him inadequate. Although Gretchen’s father was polite, Jake felt uncomfortable and kept quiet during the meal, letting them carry the conversation and watching them interact. Gretchen was clearly her father’s daughter, both in physical resemblance and in being a daddy’s girl. They laughed together over a shared memory, the quality of their laughter so similar that Jake could see the bond they shared would always exclude an outsider.

  When Gretchen left the table to use the restroom, Mr. Hamilton took the opportunity to ask questions. “How is my girl holding up? She seems tired. This touring is taking it out of her, isn’t it?”

  “It’s pretty exhausting for everyone.”

  “Is she getting enough rest? Sleeping good at night?”

  It was a loaded question. Jake knew he was really asking if they were sharing a bed. “I think she takes a sleeping tablet sometimes.”

  “You know, Gretchen hasn’t ever been away from home before, except for an occasional summer camp. This is her first experience away from her family. I wonder if the pressure of traveling and all those performances is too much for her. She seems anxious and worn out to me.”

  “Gretchen loves her job,” Jake said politely. “Maybe she just seems different because she’s growing up and changing.”

  Mr. Hamilton gazed at him. “Maybe. Or perhaps she’s fallen in with people who aren’t a good influence and she’s living an unhealthy lifestyle. All I know is Gretchen doesn’t seem very happy to me. She’s not her old, cheerful self.”

  Jake kept his eyes fixed on his plate and the remains of his lunch. Mr. Hamilton’s words hit him hard. Whenever one of his cousins got into trouble, whether he’d had anything to do with the prank or not, his uncle used to tell him that. “You’re a bad influence, Jake. This kind of shit never happened before you moved in here. You’re no good.”