The Mating of Michael (28 page)

And yet…. James could not forget what it felt like to hold Michael, the passion in his kiss, the fun they’d had together even when they were just friends, the way Michael had, so convincingly, said “I love you.” And James…. James had been so fucking in love.
Was
in love.

Had it all been lies on Michael’s part? It was tearing him apart. It felt as if the polio had returned to seize his heart. It
ached
, withering inside him like his dying legs.

H
E
WAS
still staring at the computer screen when there was a knock on the front door. His first thought was that it was Michael.

He debated not answering for about half a second before he was heading for the door in his chair. He felt his anger surge again, but this time, oh this time, he’d have a target he could aim it at. And maybe, just maybe,
God please
, Michael would have something to say that would make it all less horrible.

He opened the door to find a woman on his doorstep. She was middle-aged, thin and exhausted looking.

“James Gallway?” she asked.

“Yes?”

“I’d like to speak with you. May I please come in?” There was a tense edge to her voice, as if she was angry with him. Hell, he didn’t even know this woman.

“What is this regarding?”

“I’m a friend of Michael Lamont’s. I’d really like to speak to you.”

James stared at her for another moment, then he rolled back and let her in the door.

“Can I get you something? I have coffee, soda, or water.” James wasn’t sure if he wanted to delay her, placate her, or get her to stay longer, but any of that sounded good about now. He was suddenly sweating.

“No, thank you.”

She sat down on a chair and clasped her hands in her lap. “I’m not sure where to begin. I know this is none of my business, but I felt compelled to do something.”

“Maybe you can start by telling me who the fuck you are,” James suggested coolly.

She sat up straighter and gave him a dirty look. “My name is Cindy Chelsey. My son, Tommy, is a client of Michael’s. He tried to commit suicide last Friday night. I called Michael, and he came over to the hospital to help. I guess that got him in a lot of hot water with you.” Her voice shook a little—with tiredness, anger, or maybe both.

“I’m… sorry about your son,” James said, not knowing how else to respond.

“Michael is like a son to me, too. He’s hurting very badly right now. And that is just not fair.” She took a tissue from her pocket and wiped at her nose, but she didn’t cry. She looked too tired to cry. She seemed to be gathering herself to go on, but James spoke.

“I don’t understand,” James said, a bit tersely. “Michael is your son’s
sex
surrogate?”

“Yes.”

“And that makes you… what? Like his mother-in-law? I’m not getting the situation here.”

She shot him daggers. “My son, Tommy, and Michael are not in a romantic relationship. I hired Michael because my son is badly disfigured. He has difficulty making friends his own age, much less finding anyone who…. He was depressed. He was withdrawing from life. I thought having intimacy with someone would help. And it did. It’s helped a great deal for the past six months.”

Her voice trembled as she talked, the emotion spilling out. “Unfortunately, lately Tommy took another turn for the worse. It’s not Michael’s fault, he’s been a good friend to Tommy, but he feels guilty. And then he got that text from you. I’ve… I’ve never seen anyone grieve like that over anything less than death.” She looked down at her lap. “Except maybe Tommy’s father and me the night of the fire.”

James felt sick at her words. Obviously, the woman had been through a great deal. But there was a rising darkness was in him too—the anger he felt was all too familiar, but the bitter jealousy was new.

“I can appreciate the fact that you like Michael. But I don’t see what that has to do with Michael and me. He’s been having sex with your son for six months? And god knows how many other clients—and he never told me. He said he was a nurse.”

“He is a nurse!” Mrs. Chelsey looked up sharply. “He works for an in-home nursing care company. From what he’s said, I don’t think he has that many surrogacy clients.”

“Obviously, he has at least one, doesn’t he?” James shot back bitterly.

Mrs. Chelsey clenched her jaw, but she took a deep breath. “Tommy deserved what happiness I could give him. And Michael made him happy. He talked to Tommy, played cards with him, told him jokes. They traded books. And yes, he gave Tommy a massage with a happy ending. Maybe you can understand what it’s like when no one wants to touch you, when you feel isolated from everyone your own age, ugly, unlovable. Michael relieved that pain for Tommy.” She took a photo out of her pocket. Her hands were shaking. It was a color photo that had been printed on a home printer. She stood up and brought it to James, held it out to him.

“This is my son.”

James took it. In the photo, a figure lay in a hospital bed. Michael was in a chair next to the bed, and he was leaned over, his head on the bed, asleep. He held the boy’s hand in his. The boy, Tommy, was asleep or unconscious. James swallowed a gasp of pity at the boy’s melted, scar-twisted features and bald head.

“Are you seriously jealous of my Tommy?” Mrs. Chelsey asked. “Because that’s ridiculous. Michael doesn’t love Tommy; he loves you. He’s absolutely devastated by the way you dropped him. If you’re angry about him missing that dinner with you, blame me. I called him to the hospital Friday night, and I asked him to stay. And if you’re angry about my son, then get over it! Tommy is no threat to you.”

“He lied to me,” James said tightly, unable to stop looking at the photo, at Michael’s sweet face. He looked pale and miserable, even in his sleep.

“Yes, he told me.” She sighed. “That was wrong, but he is well aware of that.”

James looked up at her sharply but said nothing.

Mrs. Chelsey wrapped her arms around herself. She looked a little lost. “I just came here to tell you one thing. Michael Lamont is the sweetest, kindest, most loving young man I have ever met. He has a rare gift of being able to look past the surface to the person inside. And if you let him go, you are making a terrible,
terrible
mistake.” She stood up straighter. “Now. That’s all I have to say. I’ll see myself out.”

She went to the door.

“Wait. Your son, Tommy, how is he?”

Mrs. Chelsey swallowed, her eyes growing sad again. “He’s still in ICU. It’s not… not good. But thank you for asking.”

“Thank you for coming,” James said haltingly.

Mrs. Chelsey nodded and left.

O
N
S
ATURDAY
,
Michael arrived home only minutes before his scheduled appointment with Lem Peterson. He’d been at the hospital all morning, and he might have cancelled with Lem, only he couldn’t stand to let his clients down. Besides, his heart might be breaking but life went on.

Life went on.

He showered quickly and was trying to boot his laptop to remind himself of Jack’s outline for this session when the doorbell rang.

“Fuck!” He gave up on his computer. He should have left the hospital sooner, left time to prepare. But he was pretty sure the goal for this session was to touch Lem, a full body massage if possible, with or without and sexual contact, depending on how Lem handled it.

But when Michael pulled open the door, there were two people there—Lem and another man. The stranger was shorter and rounder than Lem, bald and with a sweet face. Put a beard on him and he could have been Lem’s brother.

“Hey,” Michael said, forcing a smile.

“Hi, Michael. Um, this is John.”

“Hello.” John held out his hand.

“Hi, John. So lovely to meet you.” Michael shook it.

“Is this okay?” Lem asked nervously. “I didn’t get a chance to ask Dr. Halloran. But John thought maybe…. He wanted, um….”

John placed a patient hand on Lem’s arm. “May we come in?” he asked Michael politely.

“Of course.” Michael stood aside so they could enter. He had no idea what was going on.

Lem and John sat on the couch, so Michael took the chair. “So… what’s new, Lem? Is this, um, your accounting client, John?”

“Yeah.” Lem’s eyes were sparkling. “We went on a date last weekend.”

“It was a very nice date,” John said. He took Lem’s hand and smiled at him.

“That’s amazing, Lem!” Michael enthused sincerely. “That’s fantastic.”

“Yeah so, um, I kind of told John about my mom and all of that. And about Dr. Halloran and you.”

“He’s said nothing but wonderful things about you and Expanded Horizons,” John told Michael earnestly.

“So, um, I mean, if this isn’t okay, John said he’d wait in the car, but….”

John squeezed Lem’s hand and spoke confidently. “I know you’ve been working with Lem to help him get past his issues with body shyness and, well, sexuality. I thought, if you don’t mind, I would really like to hear any suggestions you have on how I might be able to help in Lem’s therapy. I want to make sure I don’t impede his progress or push too much. And if there are simple things he and I could try that would be… less stressful for him, that would be very helpful.”

“If that’s okay,” Lem put in quickly.

Michael blinked hard as his heart swelled and ached. “I think that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” he said quietly.

John and Lem looked at each other and grinned.

“I’d be more than happy to talk to you about some of the ideas Dr. Halloran and I had for Lem’s therapy. Maybe you and Lem would like to try those things together.”

Lem looked down at his lap and blushed. But he was smiling.

“Thank you. I would really like that,” said John.

Michael talked to John and Lem for an hour. They were both very engaged in Lem’s therapy approach and goals, and Michael liked John a lot, a whole lot. They were… perfect for each other.

Michael managed to keep it together until they left, with warm thanks from John, and a bottle of Michael’s massage oil stashed in John’s pocket. But as soon as he shut the door, Michael went into his bedroom, tossed off his clothes, and buried himself under the covers.

He was thrilled for Lem, he really was. And it was super rewarding to think that he’d helped Lem get over his issues enough to get together with John. But….

Why was it so easy for everyone to find love but him? Why was he always the bridesmaid and never the bride?

Really, Michael had been dumped before. It shouldn’t be anything new. But it was. It was the worst pain he’d ever felt. He’d wanted James so, so much, and it had seemed so cosmically right. He was perfect for James and James for him. What hurt so bad was that, not only had he screwed this up for himself by not being honest, but he’d screwed it up for James. And James had such a hard time trusting, such a hard time letting someone in. Michael couldn’t bear the idea that he’d only proven to James that people let him down. Every text and voice mail he’d sent had been ignored. He wanted to go to over there and try to explain, but Michael knew he deserved James’s anger. He just couldn’t face seeing the loss of trust, the pain, on James’s face.

His tears struck the pillow in time to an endless refrain—
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry
. Exhausted after a week of hospital duty, Michael fell asleep before his tears stopped falling.

T
HE
SAME
day Mrs. Chelsey visited, Michael’s mother, Kathy, called James. She was not angry or rude. She was sad and worried. She spent an hour talking about Michael—his sweet nature, his fears and insecurities, his tendency to avoid things he knew would hurt others, how much he loved James. In the end, James listened, said little, thanked her for calling, and hung up.

The next morning, when he answered yet another knock on the front door, he found a little old lady there, her blond hair teased several inches high, her lips smeared with carmine red, and a purple polka-dot fur coat plumped over her tiny, hunched frame.

“Marnie,” James said flatly, without introduction.

“You bet your sweet ass!” Marnie snapped. She started to push her walker inside, insistent despite her frail frame and the steadying hand of… her daughter? Said daughter gave James an apologetic look.

Marnie had some tea and stayed until she had said her piece. And boy howdy, Michael hadn’t exaggerated about her one little bit. James’s ears were flaming and possibly damaged for life by the time she left.

That afternoon, Dr. Jack Halloran showed up.

James
really
had to do something about getting himself out of those online white pages.

Halloran gave him a stern lecture on the value of sex therapy and surrogacy and told him in detail about the two clients Michael was treating currently and why. He told James how good Michael was at his job, how professional he was, how compassionate, how much Halloran admired him.

“Michael knows he was wrong for not telling you about the surrogacy sooner, but he was afraid you would react badly.”

“Uh-huh,” James said. It was at least the third time he’d heard that.

“Whatever you want to make of that is up to you, but Michael is a good man and he deserves a second chance,” Halloran insisted with all the subtlety of a drill sergeant. He wasn’t exactly threatening, but James could swear there was a baseball bat somewhere in his future should he prove to be stubborn.

Marnie had been even more blunt. “Michael is a mess because of you! That boy loves you to pieces, and if you throw that away, you’re a stupid idiot!”

Yes. Well.

After Dr. Halloran left, James locked the front door and put the security chain on. He drew the front curtains. He was not going to open the door anymore—period, not if the Pope himself came to intercede on Michael’s behalf, holy writ in hand. At this point, it wouldn’t surprise James in the least.

He drove into his bedroom and got into bed. He stared up at the ceiling.

He wanted to still be pissed off. He wanted to hold on to his anger. Michael had stood him up, abandoned him on the most important night of his life, and made a very public fool of him.