“What do you really know about this Dexter guy anyway? What if he falls for you and decides to tell Jackson everything when he realizes he can’t have your love? Let me guess, ‘He didn’t seem like that type of person.’ Certainly he hasn’t revealed his true self in the little time you’ve known him. And what happened to this Giovanni person?”
“I don’t know what happened to Giovanni. I didn’t ask any questions and Dexter didn’t volunteer any answers. If Giovanni retreated in the background while Dexter spent his weekend with me, that’s his stupidity.”
Caela sat back in her chair, allowing my last statement to float in her mind. Then she spoke out. “Trevor, I heard all about how the situation with you and Kelvin had unfolded before your eyes. And while it wasn’t stupidity, love can blind you to certain things. You spent most of your time in the same house with Kelvin and you were clueless to his affairs. This situation is going to blow up in your face, not that I want to see it happen. You’re not this person you’re trying to be. Don’t do this to Jackson. He doesn’t deserve it. You don’t deserve it.”
“You know, I thought Kelvin wasn’t that type of person either, and look what happened.”
“Oh, so because you can’t hurt Kelvin, you’re going to hurt Jackson?”
“Before he hurts me.”
Caela was quiet.
I sat looking at her and waited for her to respond. She was seething. “That’s a rather selfish and reckless ass thing to say. Pardon my profanity, but what the hell makes you think it’s Jackson’s intention to hurt you?”
“It’s never their intention, now is it? Isn’t that what they say after it happens?” I paused and sat back in my chair.
“Trevor, in case you haven’t noticed, he’s not Kelvin.” She gently placed her fork on the side of her plate. She removed a note from her skirt pocket. “By the way, I took this message for you this morning.”
As I read, my eyes focused on a number I didn’t recognize. “Does this person even have a name?” I asked, looking at the other side of the paper to see if anything was written on it.
“No,” Caela responded. “He said you would know who it’s from.”
I removed my cell phone and dialed the mysterious number. I waited for someone to pick up, but instead, I listened absorbedly to the recording on the other end.
The man you see when you look at him today will not be the same man you see tomorrow. Whatever you do, don’t give your heart to him.
I slowly moved the phone away from my ear and looked at Caela in disbelief.
“Trevor, what is it?” she asked, reaching across the table for the phone.
I pressed the number 4 button to repeat the message, and handed the phone to Caela. She listened with the same whodunit look on her face. She removed the phone from her ear and sat in silence, waiting for me to provide some verbal reaction.
“Someone obviously thought I needed to be warned,” I finally broke.
“That’s obvious. The million-dollar question is, why? And, what are you going to do?”
“Well…I can either ignore the warning of a possible bitter, heartbroken brother whose advances were dismissed by Jackson.”
“Or Dexter,” Caela added.
“Or,” I continued, ignoring her comment, “I can heed the warning of someone who probably has a legitimate reason to find me.”
“The choice is yours.”
“True,” I agreed.
“But can I tell you what I think you should do?”
“Why do you even ask? You’re going to tell me anyway.”
I listened cautiously. At the end, I still wasn’t sure what I was going to do, if I was going to do anything at all. Caela’s advice formed a cloud of uncertainty in my head. I had lost appetite for food and work, even though I had a half-day left. I tried not to let the phone call consume me, but for now, there was nothing I could do about it.
On our way back to the Pavilion, Caela and I walked in silence. A question, a suggestion every now and then from either of us broke in, trying to figure out the reason behind the phantom warnings. I tried to convince myself I had nothing to worry about, all the while wondering if I should even tell Caela about the other calls I had been receiving. I thought about my brief encounter with Savon while I visited Dexter, and then fixed my mind on the puzzled look on Dexter’s face, almost as if he was warning him not to say something he knew he shouldn’t.
“Are you ok?” Caela asked as we exited the elevator.
“I’m fine,” I responded, and although she didn’t believe me, she didn’t press the issue. “I’m just going to finish up some prep work and then try to get out of here.”
I spent the last few hours behind my desk unable to focus on much of anything. There was a long conversation with Jackson. I listened to him talk about Colt’s surprise visit and about the fun time he had. I half-listened to his recount of meeting Denard, because I was too busy trying to figure things out in my own mind. None of what he was telling me mattered, but I think I did a pretty good job pretending.
I was ready for this day to be over. At five o’clock, I rushed out as if someone had just yelled “fire.” I called my father hoping I could run a scenario by him, pretending I needed some advice for a friend, but he wasn’t available. I drove to Ace of Spades and sat at the bar. I needed to drown my thoughts in a glass of something on the rocks. After two quick glasses of gin, I was in my car heading home. Although I didn’t feel like talking, I answered my phone on the first ring.
“I’m just calling to check on you, Trevor,” Caela began. “Are you ok?”
“I will be,” I answered. “I stopped for a quick drink at Ace.”
“Okay. Have you spoken to Jackson?”
“Yes, but not about what we discussed. I’m sure we’ll talk again before the night is over.”
“Look, Trevor. You went through your rough patch with Kelvin, and you know what, you just might be on a path to ruin your happy ending with Jackson.”
“You’re right. And just what do you suggest I do? This isn’t the first phone call I’ve received. And they didn’t start until Jackson moved here. Now this person is playing this game for a reason. It’s not just for entertainment. Someone out there is doing all they can to get Jackson back. Or maybe that someone never really lost him.”
“Or,” Caela interrupted. “Maybe someone was hurt by Dexter and they don’t want the same thing to happen to you. Why not just ask Jackson if there’s someone else in his life.”
“I’m not going to do that.”
“Why not?”
“If there isn’t, then sleeping with Dexter is no longer justified.”
“You mean that was your justification?”
“Caela, I’m almost home. Why don’t we talk about this tomorrow? Whatever is going on, I will figure it out. But I will bet money someone from Jackson’s not-too-distant past is here to start up some shit. And whatever it is, I need to make sure I don’t fall on my face like I did with Kelvin. I will talk with you later.”
When I entered the house, I was greeted with silence, silence I needed. I loosened my tie enough to fit over my head. I removed my shirt from my slacks and begun unbuttoning it as I made my way to the kitchen. Just what I needed, I thought, removing a bottle of Merlot from the wine cooler and pouring a glass full. I walked upstairs and into the master suite, sat on the edge of the bed, turned on the television and began surfing through my recently recorded programs. Then I stared at a framed black and white photograph of my mother that sat across the room. I exhaled, and eventually fell asleep.
19
Truth Is
Jackson…
After parking my car in the garage and entering through the door into the foyer, I stopped facing the alarm pad, my fingers crisscrossing the keypad in a frenzied attempt to disarm the alarm system. I stopped in my office briefly, throwing my briefcase onto one of the Victorian style chairs along the wall. I began loosening my tie as I made my way up t
he stairs hastening over as many steps as I could for reasons I didn’t even know. As I walked into the kitchen, I passed the pills, vitamins I had set out this morning. I turned, opened the refrigerator, and removed a cold bottle of Deer Park. One after the other I tossed the pills and capsules in my mouth, each being followed by a swallow of water to make sure it traveled smoothly down my throat.
You’re such a health freak, I thought.
When I finally made my way to my master bedroom, which sat in the corner of the house facing a covered deck, my suitcase from my last trip sat almost in the center of the floor. I hadn’t had the chance to unpack, and immediately, a feeling of exhaustion swept over me as the idea of the inevitable, somewhat tedious task, one I have avoided for the last two weeks, stared me in the face. I sat in a chair, which was cater-cornered on one side of the room. As I began unlacing my shoes, I smiled. One week before Thanksgiving, and unless I planned on bringing those same dirty clothes to my mother’s house, I needed to start unpacking one t-shirt at a time.
Finally, the people I loved the most were going to meet the man I loved the most. I just wished my father was going to be there. As I pulled open the zippers to the suitcase, I remembered that, in my hurry, I hadn’t picked up today’s mail. I walked downstairs and headed towards the front door. I opened the door and removed the four pieces of mail from the silver mailbox.
Bills…bills… bills… I thought, putting each envelope to the back of the small pile.
Ocean View Condominiums, Chicago, Ill, I read, tearing open the cream-colored envelope. The note was written on a 7 by 5-inch notebook paper, the kind of paper found in a record book.
I began reading silently to myself. Ask him a question you already know the answer to and see if he tells you the truth. Ask him about C-House and the White Sox, and let me know if the honesty you seek is the one you’ve found.
The author had impressive penmanship.
There was no return address, no signature, nothing to help me identify the person this letter came from. The desire to unpack was gone. So too was the excitement I had about the upcoming Thanksgiving trip I had planned. If Trevor had done something and was keeping it from me, how could he accept an invitation to sit and smile in my family’s face as if everything was all right?
I didn’t mind spending another night watching an old episode of Law and Order: SVU. I picked up my cell phone several times to call Trevor, but I hadn’t yet wrapped my mind around what I was going to say to him. I had nothing to prove he had done something wrong besides this letter, and I didn’t think this was enough to accuse him. And who’s to say someone wasn’t out there trying to deliberately put doubt in my mind about this man.
When my cell phone rang, I answered with a bit of annoyance in my voice.
“I thought I would have heard from you by now.” It was Gavin. He was the last person I needed to be talking to right now.
“What made you think calling you was on my list of priorities?” I thought after my cold reaction to him in Miami he would have tossed my number.
“What are you up to?”
“Gavin. What do you want?”
“Can’t a brotha just call to talk?”
“Fine. Talk,” I said. I paused.
“How’s…” There was an awkward silence. “How’s your new friend doing?”
“His name is Trevor. But something tells me you already knew that,” I injected. “We both know you’re not interested in him or his wellbeing, but if you must, he’s doing quite well. Is there anything else?”
“Was that who you were with in Miami?”
“I gave you my answer to that question the first time you asked. I see you weren’t satisfied.”
Nothing could be odder about this night. First this letter, and
now a call from Gavin. Was he really calling to “just talk” or was he trying to see if I had received his little present?
“Hey, Gavin,” I began as I removed the letter once again from the envelope.
“Wassup, baby?” he asked.
I cringed as the word fell on my ear.
“Anyway, what do you know about Ocean View Condominiums?”
“What am I supposed to know? Sounds like a condo to me?” So, it wasn’t the response I expected, but at least if he knew nothing, I could cross him off my short list of suspects. Or could I? Maybe he wanted me to think he knew nothing.
“And C-House?”
“And what?” Gavin asked. “Look, Jackson. Why don’t you stop with the Final Jeopardy questions and tell me what’s going on. What are you talking about?”
I’m not sure what came over me, but I spent the next hour talking with Gavin about the letter I received with directions to ask about C-House and the White Sox. Based on the letter, I told him I suspected Trevor must have taken a trip to Chicago, but I wasn’t sure if he had gone alone. Why was it so important that I knew about this trip Trevor had taken? And if he had taken this trip alone, why didn’t or hadn’t he said anything about it to me? What or who was in Chicago, and was it best that I didn’t know?
“You think this is much to do about nothing?” I asked. I was surprised at how attentive Gavin had been. Was he playing the role of a fool to catch wise?
“If you’re over there mulling over the possibilities, then something isn’t right. It doesn’t make any sense to exist in doubt.”
“You’re right,” I answered in agreement, surprising myself.
“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, let’s talk about us,” Gavin suggested.
It didn’t take long for the Gavin I knew to return. And I was immediately reminded he was the same indecisive, self-centered Gavin I needed to get away from.
“Like I told you before, Gavin, there wasn’t an ‘us’ to talk about when you attempted to do so over three weeks ago and there isn’t an ‘us’ to talk about now.
“You’ll change your mind,” he said, sounding confident.
Something about his statement aroused a level of distrust in the pit of my stomach, and with that I bid him a good night. I guess Gavin didn’t know what he had until I was gone. Something had gotten into him. I just didn’t know what it was.
A cloud of regret hung over me. I was lying in bed, on my back, with my forearm resting on my forehead. I tried to suppress the avalanche of activities that went through my mind. All of my attempts were unsuccessful. In the back of my mind, everything I had hoped for in meeting Trevor, in moving here, now had the possibility of crumbling, falling like sandcastles in high tide. The idea that I didn’t have to spend another New Year’s Eve surfing the internet, again, alone, reading some daily horoscope with promises of things that might or might not come true, fizzled. The thought of another Valentine’s Day that only found me draining the last drop of vodka into a half-glass of cranberry juice, wishing the day and the lonely night would just disappear, now seemed to be looming in the distant. All that had happened while I was with Gavin now threatened to return. Now I had let him into my relationship with Trevor, the one place he didn’t belong.
Before I settled into sleep, I made one last phone call. My talk with Trevor was brief, and although I was tempted to question him, I resisted. I’m not sure if he saw through my attempt to sound normal, since he kept asking me if I was ok. He appeared satisfied with my response: “I had a long day, and tomorrow promised to be just the same.” Work was keeping Trevor busy, too, but we did agree to meet for lunch later in the week.
20
Tell Me What You’re Gonna do
Trevor…
After talking to Jackson last night, I went to sleep unable to shake the feeling something was troubling him. I spent a few minutes after our conversation conjuring convincing arguments that what was bothering him had nothing to do with me—that’s what a big part of me wanted to believe. The dream I had when sleep finally came did nothing to ease the possibility that Jackson probably knew more than I thought he did, and was probably busy putting the pie
ces together before confronting me.
Even though it seemed I had just nestled my head in my pillow, I was glad when morning came. I was eager to get my day started. When my alarm sounded at 5:30 a.m., instead of walking across the room, pressing the snooze button, and then making my way back between the sheets, I walked unsteadily to my bathroom, opened the shower door, and turned on the shower. After removing my boxers, I stood under the shower, allowing the high-pressured water to beat against my body. There was a sharp pain on the side of my neck that I tried to massage away, but had no luck. It was a sign of stress, I guess, and I hoped it would soon disappear. A whiff of the citrus fragrance from my Obsession hair and body shampoo had finally gotten me far away from sleep.
Hello morning.
I stayed longer in the shower than I would have on any other workday. When I closed my eyes, enjoying the soft feel of already smooth skin, I saw his face. I hadn’t been thinking about him, so I couldn’t explain how or why he appeared out of nowhere. We did have plans for lunch this afternoon, so maybe I was subconsciously anticipating seeing him again.
I had my own warped theory of friendships between gay men, why it works and why it doesn’t. I’d always thought our friendships either worked because your friends were never men you were attracted to sexually, or because you had an attraction you worked extremely hard to ignore. This was my reason for keeping Denise and Caela close and all others farther away. I kept Wesley close, too, but he was as straight as a toothpick and was more attractive as my business partner than anything else, at least that was what I told myself. But here was Dexter, and the idea that I would be able to keep my urges for him at bay had been thrown out the window.
I drove like I owned the road, and for a good while, the road did belong to only me. I figured if I were a morning person, every morning commute to work could be like this. I expected to be the only one in the office when I walked in, but there he was waiting on me as if he had camped outside my office all night long.
'Til It Happens to You Page 12