Out Through the in Door (4 page)

27

BARFLY
 

             
Every weekend, Tom stole away to the Male Box. He knew every bartender and regular in the place. The familiarity provided him comfort, and the routine a sense of order. It, however, also reminded him how lonely he was. He had mastered the art of the one-night stand, but failed to find love. Sex was easy – intimacy was not
             
“Doing okay hon?” asked the server passing by. Tom looked at him. He was barely 21. He was wearing skin-tight leather pants, and no shirt. His muscles were bulging from holding the heavy tray of empties bottles. It was clear he was in good shape. Tom's faced flushed with embarrassment. He shrugged his shoulders. “Good music.”
             
With that the server continued on
             
Tom leaned against the wall remaining along the periphery of the dance floor. He was posed like a mannequin advertising his availability while feigning indifference. He was a wallflower. From his vantage point he watched the cast of
characters.
             
The trolls flocked at the bar waiting for the younger men. With age came wisdom, but in the troll's case it also came with cash. What the trolls had lost in beauty and youth, money could counteract. 
             
In the corners and poorly-lit places were the lurkers. Like statues they remained still with blank faces. Only their eyes moved tracing the paths of those that caught their interest. Most of these men were trapped in straight lives. Their curiosity about the queer life was strong but not strong enough to break the lies they were living.
             
At center stage, were the queens. The most dramatic of the lot – loud, visible and always the prettiest. They were sought by the trolls, glared at by the lurkers, and envied by the wallflowers.
             
“Look at me,” shouted one of them standing on the bar.
             
“Get down,” yelled the bartender. He was smiling as he walked over and patted the queen on the butt and gestured for him to get down.
             
Tom shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The atmosphere was electric. The pulsing music vibrated through him – the rhythm urging him on. Perspiration, desperation and alcohol intoxicated the air with the excitement of possibility. Tom finally dared to venture from his wall. He moved through the gyrating masses, scanning faces trying to make a connection, but all eyes turned away uninterested.
             
Downstairs, he prowled the catacombs – the dimly lit maze of passages filled with couches, platforms and hiding places. The groans and other sounds urged Tom on. It was for the blatant of heart – for those whose existence wasn't
fettered by sex but defined by it. Each brush against a body or stray hand that touched him was too much too bare. He longed for contact with another human being but his desire for more prevented him. Angry and frustrated, he returned to his place along the wall.
             
He watched as the people moved about like eddies caught currents before melting into the torrent of the crowd. He leaned heavy into the wall and closed his eyes. What should he expect in a place where sex was the common denominator? The one thing that drew everyone here. The music enveloped him and his mind drifted.
             
“You look lost,” said a voice close to him.
             
Tom opened his eyes. The man's face was in the shadows.
             
“I am... I mean I was,” replied Tom.
             
“I've been watching you patrol the place. You security?”
             
Tom laughed, embarrassed at being caught.
             
The man offered his hand. “Ben.”
             
“Tom.”
             
             
Ben grabbed his hand and led him to the dance floor.
             
As they danced, Tom studied his face. He did not recognize him. His dark brown hair was cut short and neat, with just the slightest hint of gray at the temples. His face was round with soft angles – handsome and pleasant to look at. He guessed they were the same age – about 40. What drew his attention most was Ben's icy blue eyes. There was no desperation in them as Tom often saw in men – as he knew was often in his own.
             
Warm from dancing, Tom moved to an empty table to sit. Ben followed.
They ordered drinks.
             
“You a regular here?” Ben asked.
             
“I'm usually here on the weekend.” replied Tom, suddenly bothered by that realization.
             
“I just moved into the city. Not much of a gay night life here.”
             
“It is lacking,” agreed Tom.
             
Ben told him of his new job with a large bank. He moved from Connecticut to Massachusetts. He asked Tom about where to buy furniture, groceries and just about everything else. He had packed light when he moved because he wanted to make a fresh start. As Ben continued, Tom realized that by fresh start Ben meant being single again. Exactly the opposite of what Tom was trying to achieve. 
             
After a while, Tom excused himself. He stumbled through the crowd – his eyes darting from face to face. In the bathroom, the groaning in the next stall made it difficult for him to pee. He splashed cold water on his face trying to push away the confusion,  He made his way back to the table and sat.
             
“Is this place always so busy?” asked Ben.
             
“Most nights,” answered Tom.
             
“Where do you take someone if you're on a date?”
             
Tom shrugged his shoulders. For the first time since meeting Ben, Tom felt awkward. They had been talking for hours and in his experience, conversations never lasted this long. By now he and the other guy would be sizing up each other for sex or making an excuse not to. With Ben, it was not clear.
             
Ben looked at his watch. “It's getting late. Will you walk me to my car?”
             
Outside, the cool night air shook Tom from his stupor.
             
“Come home with me?” asked Ben.
             
Tom's heart raced and his breath shortened. “I can't,” he answered, surprised by his own response
             
“Why not?”
             
“Remember when you said I looked lost?”
             
Ben nodded.
             
“I don't want this,” continued Tom.
             
“What
do
you want?”
             
“More,” Tom said.
             
Ben leaned in and kissed him on the cheek and got in his car. “Maybe I'll see you around.”
             
“Maybe,” answered Tom. He watched the car disappear around the corner. The club's music played against the backdrop of the clear night sky. He sat on his car staring at the stars. He felt neither disappointment nor desperation only loneliness.
             
Among those who watch and wait, lurk and lust or hunt and hope, there must be a place for those seeking love, he thought. There must be something sustainable outside the atmosphere of this place.
             
A moment later Ben's car returned. He got out and held out a slip of paper. Tom was reluctant to take it. Ben folded it in his hand.
             
“You never know,” he said. He got back in his car and drove away.
             
Tom tightened his fist. “You never know,” he whispered.

32

PAPER LOVER

Tennison pulled the sheets off the bed, wadded them up and stuffed them into the washing machine. He grabbed the detergent, and not knowing how to measure it poured some in. He stared at the controls trying to figure how to turn it on. If Aaron came home right now he was screwed. How would he explain the sweat and cum stains on the sheets?
             
He had hurried the stranger out the door with a fake phone number and a  promise to call. He didn't even know the guy's name. It was the first time Tennison had brought a stranger into his home. It spite of knowing it was a bad idea, he did it anyway.
             
He got the machine going but it was gyrating like a drunken salsa dancer banging against the wall. He sat on it, waiting for the cycle to finish. The phone rang. It was probably Aaron. As predictable as Old Faithful, Tennison thought. Aaron always called before leaving work. If Tennison answered it, he would have to explain the noise and since he never did laundry his explanation would seem odd. He looked at the knobs and dials for an off button. He let the phone ring. Aaron would be home soon enough.
             
He straightened up the bedroom, scanning for any other evidence of his illicit activities. As he rushed around he knocked over a picture –  the glass shattered on the floor. He picked up the photo. It was from last year. He and Aaron were sitting on a carnival ride. It had been one of their first dates – a blind date set up by mutual friends.
             
Aaron, with his thick wavy brown hair and icy blue eyes, was a strikingly handsome man with a squared-off chin, rugged features and perfect teeth in a perfect smile. The attraction had been immediate for Tennison. Whenever he looked at him he thought of the magazine ads for the Marlboro Man.
             
When Tennison was growing up his mother would yell at him for ripping pages out of the magazines before she'd even read them. He would deny it emphatically. When he met Aaron it was as if he had walked right off of the page.
             
He picked up the broken pieces of glass, set the photo back in the frame, and put it on the bed stand. Certainly Aaron wouldn't notice the missing glass before he replaced it.
             
The sheets were now in the dryer and the bedroom back to normal. Despite his mild panic, Tennison languished in the adrenaline rush. While there was a thrill from sex with strangers, there was also a rush from the risk of getting caught. His history with Aaron didn't seem to matter in those moments and his guilt was already dissipating. What mattered to Tennison was the rush and then rationalizing his way through it.
             
The dryer went off. Tennison pulled out the sheets and quickly made the bed carefully tucking it and folding it the way Aaron would. As he made the bed, it reminded him of when he fixed Aaron's sheets and fluffed his pillows during his
brief hospital stay.
             
Four months earlier Aaron was in a car accident. The drunk driver plowed into the driver side of his car. Other than a broken leg, he suffered only minor injuries. The cast had come off a few weeks ago and he was slowly gaining his strength back.
             
During Aaron's week in the hospital, Tennison was by his side every night. It was right thing to do. It certainly had nothing to do with the handsome orderly on the same floor. Or, with Tennison's indiscretion with the orderly on one of his visits. If the guilt was overwhelming it didn't hinder Tennison. The taste of lust and rush of emotions was too powerful to ignore.
             
Tennison heard the car in the driveway as it pulled him from his thoughts. He hopped on to the bed and lay across it – his eyes closed.
             
“Hey,  sleepy,” Aaron said as he rubbed Tennison's leg. “Wake up.”
             
He opened his eyes and rubbed them. “Hey,” he groaned. “What time is it?”
             
“Time to get up,” Aaron went to the kitchen. “I brought home Chinese. I figured you were napping when you didn't answer the phone.”
             
Tennison followed him out stopping to stretch. “Sorry about that.”
             
“Honestly, they need to give you a more regular schedule. Sixty hours a week is killing you.”
             
“It's better than not having a job at all.”
             
Aaron set the table, lit some candles and put the food out. “Would you like wine with dinner?” he asked.
             
Tennison nodded yes as he sat at the table. Aaron sat in the chair next to him.
             
“I have tomorrow off so I'll cook us something nice for dinner.”
             
Tennison loved Aaron. He was happy with him. But since his affair months ago he'd cheated on Aaron more times than he could count. Without Aaron (to cheat on) there was no risk – no excitement.
             
How could he explain this to Aaron without the risk of losing him – the one risk he didn't want to take. He also knew Aaron wouldn't accept an open relationship. Besides, if Aaron knew or allowed it what risk was there at all. . It was a paradox he couldn't resolve.
             
After dinner, they watched TV. Tennison flicked through the channels while Aaron read a magazine.
             
“Honestly Ten, how many subscriptions do we have?” The growing piles of magazines was high enough for Aaron to rest his feet on like a hassock. “They're everywhere.”
             
“I need to keep up on the latest advertising trends.”
             
“I know but does our house have to look like the National Archives? ” Aaron flipped though a magazine stopping at a place where a page had been torn out. “It looks like you've torn out the ads you like in all these magazines. Maybe we can get rid of some?”
             
“Sure,” Tennison agreed.

#

The next day Aaron set to picking up the house and removing the piles of magazines that had infiltrated the place. As he collected them, from
Art in America
to
Zoetrope
, they ranged from fashion to finance, from science to sports, from health to home. He sorted them by issue and when he was done there were thirty-four piles and more than 500 magazines stacked in his living room.
             
The sheer volume was overwhelming. How, Aaron wondered, had Tennison amassed so much without him noticing. He sat down to take a break. He grabbed a magazine and thumbed through it. Sure enough, pages were missing. He was curious to know what criteria dictated an ad making the Tennison file.
             
He culled each pile down to the last three issues while tossing the older ones into trash bags. He then organized them in magazine holders. After dragging out the bags to the garage he brought the remaining magazines into the home office.
             
The combination of modern and classic features made it Aaron's favorite room. It was painted in a pumpkin color with mahogany woodwork. The desk and built-in book shelves were also mahogany. While the room was large, the dark colors made it feel cozy and slightly studious. The stainless steel chandelier hung from a crisp white ceiling framed by two formidable mahogany beams running its length. The chandelier matched the other stainless steel accents in the room.
             
Whenever a New England winter hit, it was nice to be able to work from home. Aaron liked to curl up on the big leather couch whenever he had a good book to read. It had always been his space.
             
When Tennison moved in Aaron cleared off some shelf space and emptied out half of the desk drawers. When Tennison used the office he would lock himself in for hours trying to come up with an advertising campaign or a catchy slogan. Aaron would walk by and hear him grunting, groaning and talking to himself. This, according to Tennison, was how he worked out ideas.
             
Aaron moved things to make space for the magazines on a shelf. He picked up a photo of him and Tennison taken at the beach. They looked happy – Tennison in his Speedo.
             
His face red from too much sun. His short salt-and pepper hair framed a  youthful face. Although in his late forties, Tennison could pass for someone in his thirties. His dark brown eyes were deep and soulful and were a stark contrast to his fair skin. Aaron could read those eyes. And in recent months he was feeling uncertainty from them.
             
As he emptied the shelves he discovered a shoe box hidden behind some books. He opened it. He sat down and sifted through the contents.
             
Later, Aaron put everything back in place except for the box. It  sat in the middle of the desk. He was sure – or  more accurately
hoped
  – there was a reasonable explanation. He cleaned the rest of the house and then left to do errands.

#

Tennison leaned forward in his chair chewing on the end of a pen. He needed a killer slogan for this ad campaign but nothing came to him. The product was a high-tech digital card touted to replace all manner of cards carried in a wallet or purse – from credit cards to a driver's license.
             
Field research showed a huge potential for the OneCard. And Tennison, being a senior ad man, was given the opportunity to work on this multimillion dollar account. It was also his first international account so he needed it to be perfect..
             
The list of slogans he'd written and subsequently crossed off were too esoteric, too cliche –  too something. The client wanted a sophisticated campaign that reflected the card's ease of use for the busy lifestyle of the young demographic it was targeting.
             
He tapped the pen on the desk and looked around his office for any kind of
inspiration. Along one wall was a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows. From his vantage point on the twentieth floor, the city scape of downtown Providence shimmered in the late morning light.
             
Directly across from his office was a billboard. On it  was an advertisement for underwear and it featured a handsome man. His larger-than-life features loomed. He had blonde hair, a perfect smile, dark brown eyes, a chiseled physique and filled out the underwear quite well. Tennison fixated on the man and his mind wandered.

#

Tennison came home to the smells of a gourmet meal. He found Aaron out on the back deck. “Smells wonderful.”
             
“It's your favorite,” Aaron replied as he looked up from his book. “How was work?”
             
“Okay. Still stuck on a campaign for a new client. I just can't seem to find the groove on it.”
             
Aaron got up, gave Tennison a kiss. “Would you like something to drink?”
             
“Sure.”
             
Aaron returned a few minutes later with iced tea.
             
“So what did you do today?” Tennison asked as he sat.
             
“Cleaned the house, thinned out your magazines, found a shoe box hidden on the shelf, ran some errands  and made dinner.”
             
Tennison almost spilled his drink as Aaron rattled off his activities. Aaron's  raised eyebrow and the look of stern curiosity offered him a chance to explain.
             
The game was on, Tennison thought. He raced through his options: he could
deny knowing anything about it but given only they lived here it was an obvious lie; he could offer any number of plausible explanations but Aaron would probably see through them or he could be honest or at least enough to get through this. “You found my collection?”
             
“I did,” Aaron responded. “I couldn't understand why it was hidden. It's just a box full of magazine ads.”
             
“They're all of men,” Tennison offered as if it the answer should have been obvious.
             
“So, they're all of men. Why was it hidden?”
             
“I thought you would be uncomfortable.”
             
Aaron shook his head. “Over advertisements?” He went into the house to check on dinner.
             
The adrenaline pumped through him. There was a time when it bothered Tennison – when the guilt was not so easily pushed aside. But it paled to the power of the danger and excitement.
             
After dinner they went for a walk along the lake. It was late spring and all the ducks were venturing about with ducklings in tow. They sat on a bench by the lake. Aaron pulled some bread from his pocket.
             
“From what I saw in the box,” Aaron said, “you've been collecting the ads since you were just a boy.” He  tossed bits of bread.
             
The rush rose in Tennison. “I guess I never got around to throwing any away.”
             
“Why do you have them?”
             
“For work. You know I collect them..”
             
“So you knew you were going to go into advertising at an early age?”
             
“What exactly is your point?” Whenever Aaron had been suspicious, Tennison was able to artfully dodge his questions or turn them back on him. Finding the box had tipped the scales slightly in Aaron's favor. Tennison was once again walking the tightrope between being accused and being excused and it was titillating.
             
When I was younger I was drawn to them. It wasn't like I could walk into a store and buy
Playgirl.
”
             
“I can understand that when you were a boy but why do you still collect them?”
             
“They're for work. Like I said I didn't think you would be comfortable with me having them.”
             
“I'm not sure I believe you.”
             
“Aaron what do you want me to say? I have pictures of men in a  box. They're not even dirty ones. Since when is that a crime?”
             
“I never said it was. I'm asking why you have them. They're not for work or else they wouldn't be hidden. I've never gone into your work files so I would have never seen them. They were deliberately hidden. Do you jerk off to them?”
             
“Sometimes.” The game was shifting and Tennison was losing ground.
             
“Does having these men in a box make you feel in control?”
             
Tennison's heart raced as he fought to contain himself.. “No.”
             
“Then why do you have them?” Aaron's tone was firm. His eyes were locked on Tennison.
             
This was it, thought Tennison. Time to reel him and go home. “You and I haven't been the same since your surgery. I love you as much as I ever have but you have to admit our sex life is all but nonexistent. The pictures give me an outlet.” Tennison turned away feigning embarrassment.