Victor J. Banis

by Deadly Nightshade

  “Gosh, I don’t know. I guess there’ll be another case, and we’ll solve it, and then one after that. Where do these things go? Generally, I mean.”

  “Some guys, a lot of them, they have in mind they’ll end up Chief some day. Is that what you’ve got in mind?”

  “Why would I be satisfied with Chief of Police? Why wouldn’t I shoot for, say, Governor?”

  Tom laughed out loud. “A queen for governor. That’s a riot.” He laughed again.

  “You know,” Stanley said in a cool voice, “if they gave Pulitzers for Asshole, you’d be a shoo-in.”

  Tom was unperturbed. “Flattery will get you nowhere. Besides, why stop at Governor? Why not President?” He laughed again.

  “Why not?” Stanley said. “I don’t see how a queen could screw things up any more than your average macho-man.” After a moment’s pause, he propped himself up on one elbow. “Okay, since we’re playing twenty questions, let me ask you something, hypothetically. Even, say, amphigorically. Suppose that a guy fell in love with you—”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “What, falling in love?”

  “No. That ampho-whatever?”

  “It means…” Stanley gave a big sigh. “Skip it.” After a moment, he said, “Haven’t you ever been in love?”

  “No.”

  “Never? You were married, weren’t you?”

  “Yes. Teenage couple, that kind of thing. A guy in his teens, hot nuts forever, a girl puts out, it’s the greatest thing in your life. You think that’s what love is all about. And you think about getting it every night, no more wrestling around in the car, no more sneaking in when her parents aren’t looking. You marry her.

  That’s what it costs you for regular nookie. That, and swearing you love her.”

  “And you didn’t?”

  “Hell, how would I know? I guess not.” He paused to consider that for a moment. “After a while, though, you start thinking, is that all there is? It starts feeling like something’s missing, only you don’t know what it is, just… something. And you know this isn’t it. You start thinking other people, maybe it’s different for them, maybe they know something you don’t know. Then, you start looking around. You think, maybe I should have waited for someone better to come along, someone who would make me feel… oh, hell, I don’t know that either, what you’re supposed to feel. It just always seemed to me that there ought to be a woman somewhere who would make me feel it. That longing to take care of them, to do whatever makes her happy, someone where, just giving her pleasure is your pleasure. The way it is in the songs, and the movies. You know what I mean?”

  “I think so.”

  Tom was silent for a moment more. “I’ve thought a lot of times what it would be like. I mean, I guess everybody hopes someone will come along one day. You know, someone special, the one that’s meant for you.”

  “I guess we all think about that,” Stanley said. These were not the answers he’d been hoping to hear. Or, more like he had asked the questions too early. It took some men a while to get used to the idea.

  “What about you?” Tom asked. “Haven’t you ever been in love? I don’t mean, just, like, the way you’re hot for my dick.”

  “Hot for your dick? Excuse me. I had the impression that I wasn’t the only one enjoying these little interludes of ours.”

  “Well, sure, fuck yes. Sure I’ve enjoyed it. Most of it, anyway. I don’t think I’m cut out for, you know, what we just did. I don’t think I’d ever get to where I thought that was fun, but, the rest of it, sure. What I meant was, you know, really in love? With some person. The whole deal.”

  “Hearts and flowers, you mean?”

  “Yeah. That kind of shit? You ever felt like that about a guy?”

  “Yes. I thought so, anyway.” He was tempted to embellish that, and didn’t, not sure Tom would like hearing the rest of it.

  “And? What happened? Where is he?”

  Stanley sighed. “He was a Merman. You know, half man, half fish. I forgot to keep his tail properly wet, and he just vanished.” He paused. “They do, you know. The good ones.”

  “Yeah,” Tom said. He thought about the sex they’d just had. It hadn’t been as bad as he’d expected, but he hadn’t much liked it either, the way he did when Stanley took care of him. He liked that, though.

  He liked Stanley, too—actually, more than he wanted to let on. He thought Stanley was cute. He got a big charge out of the things he did—like, the sassy way he had about him, and cooking breakfast, and the way that, when he got serious, Stanley looked even younger, the way little kids do. Stanley was a good guy.

  It felt good lying in bed next to Stanley, too. Actually, just being with Stanley gave him a good feeling.

  Like nothing he’d ever quite experienced with anybody else before. He liked feeling like Stanley’s big bad daddy. Looking after him, protecting him, shit like that. In some ways it was like… but he stopped that thought before it fully formed itself in his mind.

  When he was a kid, he had jumped into the river near where he lived, not the Mississippi, but a good-sized one that ran into it, meaning to swim to the other side. It had looked so close at that point, until he was in the water, and fighting the current.

  He had made it, but only just, puking water and everything else in him while he hauled himself onto the opposite shore, and passed out in the mud, where the searchers found him. He’d laid in bed for days, half dead and wishing for the other half. He never tried to swim the river again.

  The problem was, it felt too good, actually, when he was with Stanley. But, in his experience, the good feelings faded. Always. It was only the bad ones that hung around to bug you. The water was fine. He could have swum that distance easily. It was the current that was treacherous. It carried you along, and you couldn’t know where it might carry you.

  “What is it,” he asked aloud, warily, like sticking a toe in the water, “that you think you want out of this?”

  “That I think I want?”

  “Say, back at the start. When we first got together. What did you want from me?”

  “I wanted to solve this case together. Really. That’s all I wanted.” Which wasn’t quite true, but putting it the other way wouldn’t be quite true either, would it?

  “Okay. Then, what about after that first time we, you know, we did it…”

  “I sucked your cock.” This did not seem like a conversation that called for subtleties.

  “Right. You sucked my cock. So, what then? Were you thinking that I’d fall in love with you? That we’d, I don’t know, get something going? Whatever they call it. Couples, I guess. Was that what you were hoping for?”

  “Honestly? After that time, what I was mostly hoping for was that you wouldn’t beat the shit out of me, or hate me. And, just maybe we’d do it again.”

  Tom took a long time to think about that. The silence in the apartment was deafening. “Well, then, there you have it,” he said finally. “I’d never beat the shit out of you, fuck, I couldn’t do that. And I don’t hate you, and we did it again. I guess that’s a happy ending, isn’t it?’

  It was Stanley’s turn to think things through. “Ending?” he said, that word finally sinking in. “Is it ending?”

  Tom sighed, sounding even to his own ears a lot like Stanley with those long suffering sighs of his.

  He knew Stanley was in love with him. And a part of him wished fervently that he loved him back. That he could love him back. He’d actually thought about what it would be like if they had—well, he didn’t even know what to call it—if they made it like a regular thing between them. He could handle the sex, sure. Not what they’d done tonight, but the other stuff was fine.

  But, there was all the rest of it, that other stuff when you got tied up with someone, and he’d just be going through the motions with that, wouldn’t he? And what happened when he wanted some real sex? A woman.

  Maybe not a woman to love, but a piece of ass. That wasn’t something he was
willing to give up, not for Stanley, not for anybody. Sooner or later, didn’t matter how many blow jobs he got, he’d want to get himself some of the real stuff, and he knew as sure as anything that Stanley would never be able to handle that. He might say he would, he probably would say it if he was asked, but that wasn’t how it would play out when the time came.

  He sighed again and swung his legs over the side of the bed without answering Stanley’s question.

  “You could spend the night,” Stanley stretched, nervous about the non-answer, his eyes feasting on the curves of Tom’s butt. His no longer virgin butt, but he did not think this was the time to suggest that encore he’d been hoping for.

  “No,” Tom said. He sat on the edge of the bed to tie his shoes. Stanley reached out and traced one finger along his spine. Tom ignored him, got up, put his shirt on, tucked it in.

  “Stanley, this isn’t good.” he said.

  “What we just did? It wasn’t good?”

  “I don’t mean the sex. Well, I do, sort of.”

  Stanley managed a kind of chuckle. “The night’s still young,” he said.

  “Only, think about it. It isn’t fair, is it? I mean, it’s all one sided. The way it usually goes, you do all the work, and I get all the fun.”

  “I wouldn’t say that, exactly. I mean, I just…”

  “Don’t say it,” Tom interrupted him. “That’s not going to happen again. That was strictly a one-time thing.”

  “Well, then, why did you do it? It was your idea.”

  “I wanted to see… I wanted to make you happy, is all. But like I said, it was just for once. I’m not going to do it again. Or, well, anything else. I mean, anything to get you off. I’m never going to give you head, not in a million years. If I was going to try it for anybody… but I couldn’t, not even for you. And don’t tell me that never crossed your mind.”

  “I’ve got a dirty mind, what can I say? There’s all kinds of naughty ideas banging around in there. But, so, okay, you can’t give head and you don’t want to do that again. You could always…”

  “Give you a hand job? Don’t think I didn’t think of that, too. But I couldn’t. It just… hell, I don’t know. I don’t even like to look at your dick. I don’t even like to remember that you’ve got one, if you want the truth. I sure don’t want to play with it. I’m straight. Ninety percent. Ninety-five, maybe. You knew that. So, what have we got here? Say we were going to get something going between us, which is what you’ve been angling for, I know that. But, hell, get what going? I lay back and you polish the woodwork, and it’s good night, Irene. ‘Cause that’s all we could ever do in the future. What kind of a relationship is that?”

  “I’ve never complained, have I?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  “Maybe I like polishing the woodwork, as you so poetically put it. Maybe…”

  “I know you do. I can tell that. But, well, this time, what I let you do, fucking me, you asked me why I did it. It was something special I wanted to do for you. The most special thing I could think of. It was a present.

  A goodbye present.”

  Stanley sat up, reached for the bedside lamp and turned it on. They both blinked in the sudden light.

  “Goodbye? As in so long it’s been good to know you?”

  Tom nodded. “I asked for a change in partners today. We won’t be working together any longer.”

  “Why?”

  “Our case is solved.”

  “There’s plenty of other cases,” Stanley said. “And we work together well as a team. Don’t we?”

  Tom shrugged. “Maybe. But there’d always be this other stuff, wouldn’t there? I mean, even if you never came on to me again, it would still be on my mind, and sooner or later, I’d get hot nuts…” He shrugged.

  “Hell, I’m only human.”

  “I think you mean barely,” Stanley said.

  “Anyway I don’t want to be part of that team, Stanley. One case, everybody will forget about it soon enough, especially since we wrapped it up pretty fast. If I continued working with you, though, well, pretty soon, people would start to wonder, they’d think maybe there was something going on between us.”

  “I just had my dick up your ass, damn it. There is something going on between us.”

  “Was,” Tom said. “And we’re both going to forget about your butt fucking me.”

  “Maybe you’re going to forget it, but I’m not.”

  “Well, you can savor it in your memories all you want, I kind of figured you would, but, publicly, as far as anyone else is concerned, forget it happened.” His tone was angry, but after a moment of Stanley’s icy silence, he said, coaxingly, “Please. I’m asking you as a favor. I told you, it isn’t going to happen again. I wanted to do something special for you. That was the most special thing I could think of.” He strapped on his holster, put his jacket on over it. “And I don’t want the other guys getting any ideas. About us.”

  “Crap. Let them think what they like. Who cares?”

  “I care. I don’t want to look at them and see in their eyes what—well, what’s in their eyes when they look at you, if you want me to be honest.”

  Stanley snorted. “That’s the great weakness of dull-minded people. You think everybody else thinks the same as you. Let me explain something to you, lover, that every gay man, even every ever so slightly gay man, discovers eventually for himself the minute you accept that you’re different is the minute you become normal.”

  “Normal for you, maybe. I don’t want them looking at me that way.”

  “I should think it would be worth it, for the sake of…” He left the sentence unfinished.

  Tom looked hard at him, as if he knew perfectly well what had been left unsaid.

  “Some people want everything for nothing,” Stanley said.

  “I’ll settle for nothing for nothing.” Tom held out his hand. “I’ll see you around the station, okay?”

  Stanley ignored the hand. “But I’m not allowed to run up and give you a kiss, I take it.”

  Tom took his hand back. “Good night,” he said.

  He was at the door when Stanley said, “Actually, Tom, I’ve decided to quit the force.”

  Tom paused, one hand on the doorknob, to look back at him, but he didn’t say anything. He was remembering winters back in Missouri, the way the river—the one he’d tried to swim across—the way it iced up in the winter, but never completely, solidly, never enough so that you could walk out on it. Thin and brilliant, and as quick to melt as it had been to form. It looked safe enough, but if you tried to walk out on it, it cracked beneath your feet. He could feel ice cracking now.

  “This,” Stanley made a gesture with his good hand, as if he were talking about the room, “it isn’t me. I’m not a cop. I was never cut out to be one. It was just something I wanted to do to… oh, hell, it doesn’t matter why, does it? The point is, it was a stupid move. It’s time I faced that.”

  He’d made his mind up before Tom had even shown up, was convinced that it couldn’t be changed. But he would kind have liked for Tom to try to change it.

  He didn’t. He only nodded, still wordless, and let himself out.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “It’s okay. It happens to guys sometimes.”

  “Sure,” Tom said.

  She nestled into the crook of his arm. It was the same blonde as before. He doubted that she’d be back for a third try. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Right.”

  They were silent for a long moment, Tom staring up at the changing pattern of light on the ceiling.

  “Do you want me to give you some head?” she asked finally. She reached down and took hold of his dick, shook it back and forth. It was as floppy as an empty balloon.

  “Actually,” Tom said, scooting away from her, her fingers falling away from his cock, “I think I’ll call it a night. It’s been a kind of rough day.”

  He got up, began to dress in the dark.

  “You can tu
rn on the light if you want,” she said.

  “No, this is okay.” He continued in silence.

  She lay on the bed watching him, not much more than a shadow among shadows. She’d have liked to turn on the light. He was pretty good to look at. But she was afraid it would make him more uncomfortable.

  “So,” he said after a few minutes. “Thanks anyway. You take care, okay?” He went to the door, didn’t bother to come back and kiss her. The light from the hall cast him in a kind of bas-relief for a moment. He turned back, gave her a quick wave, and was gone, the door closing quietly after him.

  On the stairs, he paused, wondering where he wanted to go. Not home—and no point heading for another bar. What would that accomplish? He could pick up another woman, he never had any problem with that, but what if the result was the same? That would really freak him out.

  So, no, not home, and not a bar, either. But, where then?

  For some reason, he thought of the Castro—and as quickly asked himself why he would want to go there?

  All those queers, all that Saturday night shuffle. Anyway, what if somebody spotted him there, how would he explain it? Say, one of the guys from the station.

  Only, why would any of them be there either, if you thought about it? Something flitted through his mind.

  Hadn’t Stanley said something, a long time ago, about a couple of the uniforms at the station? For sure he was probably just being a smart ass, like he always was. But it would be embarrassing to run into one of them all the same.

  Which brought him, of course, full circle back to Stanley, which was exactly who he had been trying not to think of, since the night, nearly two weeks ago, when he’d said goodbye. Because, he just didn’t know, not even after all this time, exactly what he did think of Stanley.

  He’d thought, at the beginning, that he knew exactly how he felt. And then there had been those times, when it was all turned around, like all of a sudden, Stanley had become someone special to him, in a way he couldn’t fathom.

  How could that be? He was straight. He liked women. Liked them a lot. Well, if he was honest, he wasn’t sure he really liked women all that much, not the woman-ness of them, anyway. The clothes and the questions and the whole man-woman routine, the drinks and the dates and the mornings after (he couldn’t remember one of them fixing him breakfast, now that he thought about it) which could be a pain in the ass.