Andy Stevenson vs. The Lord of the Loins (13 page)

"Stupid Hallmark holiday. Actually, there
is
something I need to talk to you about before my roommate comes back.” He lowered his voice. “That thing we're going to try..."

I knew what he was talking about—something called a relationship, maybe?

"I'm not in a position to have people know about it right now, or about me. This has to remain private, and I need your word that you'll keep it that way."

"Alan, you have my word. Discretion is my middle name."

Ah, yes, discretion. What a wonderful word to have in the English language. The mere idea of my not being discrete about this was almost laughable. I certainly didn't want the rest of the world knowing about my tryst with Tristan, and I sure as hell didn't want Tristan knowing about my arrangement with Alan, so Alan could certainly rely on my not being premature in presenting...

This could go on for a while, but you get the point. I knew I could rely on Alan. What's more, he and I were emphatic that our education must come first, then our relationship, so that meant we would see each other on the weekends or in between studying and homework.

Well, it was a great theory, only the reality was that we used every conceivable excuse to run into each other or stop by to pick something up we'd conveniently forgotten or any number of other reasons. And you know what that always leads to? Yep. Conversation.

Alan and I spent much of our time talking, mostly because I asked him an endless number of questions. He told me about spending his summers in Hong Kong when he was growing up, about the culture there, his visits to England and elsewhere in the world, his love of British sitcoms, the movies he liked and the music artists he listened to, like Anita Mui, his favorite. He was as interested in my formative years as I was in his, though he never asked a single question about mine nor did he ever keep it on that subject when it came up. Actually, I had the impression that he enjoyed me more when I was quiet, but I think that was just his way of being playful.

Anyway, we soon made the pleasant discovery that we'd become fast friends. Our relationship wasn't going to be based on something purely physical but rather on mutual interest and compatibility. He told me what to do and I either did it or pretended to do it, which made him happy.

We even started finishing each other's sentences. I'd start with something like “I'm thinking of picking up the latest Thompson Twins album...” and he'd finish it with “but then decided against it because I want to save my money for something important, like my future."

Okay, so he didn't always get it right, but he was making an effort. He tried to keep me on the straight and narrow, and I tried to keep him on the fringes of sanity.

There were a few occasions when I felt inspired to write something down that occurred between us. Unfortunately, there were a few occasions when he found those little snippets and read them, often becoming quite flushed while informing me how one-sided they were and how unflattering they, in his own humble opinion, made him look. I naturally disagreed, but he felt he had veto power. It took me a little time to realize that life had suddenly become fun again. I even started to feel good about myself ... a little, anyway.

As with so much else in life, though, the peace and quiet was too good to be true, meaning the next domino fell the following week on a Thursday morning when the phone rang. I rolled over and looked at my clock: eight-thirty. I knew it wasn't my father, since he tended to call at five-thirty just to annoy me, and it wasn't Alan since he didn't get up until at least eleven, so who was it?

Grumbling, I stumbled over to my desk.

"Somebody better be dead or dying,” I said when I picked up the receiver, “because I've got an hour left to sleep."

"Andy Stevenson?” The voice was male, but unfamiliar. Telemarketer!

"My, nothing gets by you.” I yawned. “Look, I know I frequently hang up on you people, but if you're going to sell something, couldn't you call back at a more reasonable time? I need all the sleep I can get, and I've got—"

"Man, just come out!"

"Come out? I've got...” What did I have? “I've got an hour left, you...” Whoever it was hung up on me before I could finish calling him a name. “Son of a...” I slammed the phone down and walked back to the bed, but it rang again when I was halfway there. This wasn't funny. I knew this because I wasn't laughing. What the heck did he mean “just come out?"

The phone continued to ring, and it was either answer it or let it irritate me.

"I now have fifty-nine minutes left to sleep.” I didn't even bother to say hello. Actually, I never bothered to say hello when somebody called before I got up. I thought it might have been the same guy, but there was another voice speaking to me now. “What do you mean did I just get out of the shower? I just got done telling you how much time I ... Pardon me? You want to come over and put your tongue where? No, I'm not coming out! I'm not even dressed yet.” I hung up on
him
.

What the hell was all that about? Why were people pranking me?

Students had a strange idea of entertainment. I doubted I was going to get any more sleep, so I might just as well get an early start, take a shower and do some writing before class. The phone rang again as I was about to walk out of the room and head for the showers. Oh, no, you don't. I turned the ringer off and set the answering machine to pick up after one ring. Let them talk to that for a while.

There weren't many guys in the shower room when I walked in, and the ones who were there seemed in an awful big hurry to leave. Did I miss some stupid memo in my mailbox about an event today? Wouldn't it just figure that the one time I threw away their green pastel waste-of-a-tree-attention-all-students flyer it would turn out to be important?

I brushed my teeth and then headed for an empty shower stall.

The red light on the answering machine was blinking so many times when I got back to my room that I couldn't keep count. Either a whole bunch of people were in on this little joke or there were only a few and they'd been tricked into calling back several times before they realized they'd been duped by a piece of plastic with a microchip. That'll teach them!

I grabbed a pair of jeans, undershirt and a sweatshirt and started getting ready to face the elements outside. Today had started off a little strange, but something good was going to happen. I could feel it!

I walked up to Kim's room, but she'd already left. One of the people in the room next to hers opened their door and peeked out. I think her name was Cindy.

"Morning.” I smiled.

"Morning, Andy.” She giggled. “Isn't it about time you came out?” I heard several more giggles coming from inside the room.

"Actually.” I didn't know whether to smile back or ignore her. “I'm on my way out now.” This statement seemed to amuse her to no end, and I decided to try something here. “Are you coming out, too?"

Cindy could barely contain herself, and she quickly shut the door and locked it. Loud, outrageous laughter erupted from inside, and I figured it was better to leave than risk having her open it again. Maybe I should have just gone back to my room and slept the rest of the day because this was just too weird.

Kim wasn't at the Commons, either. I ended up getting some rubbery pancakes and was halfway done eating them before I discovered they were actually waffles. Big surprise. I looked around for a paper to read while I ate, but they were already all gone. There wasn't much to read in the way of entertainment, so students usually flocked to pick up the campus newspaper when it came out Thursday morning.

A few people at some of the tables had a copy, and would point me out to the person sitting next to them. It didn't really bother me because I did have my music column in it, and people liked to know who it was either insulting their music or supporting it. This time, though, they were laughing. Had I made a typo? Personally, I didn't feel the new Inker & Hamilton album was a laughing matter.

Someone sitting at a nearby table shouted at me just as I put my tray on the conveyor belt that led to the kitchen, where the food would be recycled and later put back out as something else.

"Hey, Andy?"

"What?” I was dreading what he had to say, mostly be-cause I knew exactly what it was he was going to say.

"Are you going to come out or what?” The table erupted in laughter.

"Why don't we all just come out?” I suggested, and they laughed even harder. Idiots.

I walked out. It had to be a typo, which meant that this little joke would last a few days and then the focus would be on something or someone else. More power to it. I opened the door and started putting on my ski mask.

"Andrew?” I didn't even bother to look at who called my name.

"Yeah, yeah.” I put my gloves on. “Just come out ... blah blah blah. Fuck off!” I started off towards the student center.

"Excuse me?” The voice sounded ridiculously familiar.

"Oh, shit.” I turned around. Yep. Oh, shit, indeed. “Sorry, Cath ... Professor Gevaultski. I thought you were somebody else."

"I never would have guessed.” The forced smile on her face said the opposite. Well, I'd now insulted her music and aimed the mother of all swear words at her, so was there anything else I could possibly screw up? I was willing to guess there wasn't, but a leaflet in her hand suggested otherwise.

"Is that for a film festival?” Finally! Maybe she and I had found a common language after all.

"Yes.” She replied, rather curt in manner, and I could hardly blame her. “One of the organizations has arranged showings of
My Sweet Charlie, You'll Like My Mother
and
The Last American Hero.
” Nope, I got nothing. “Some of the finest pieces of work from director Lamont Johnson.” Oh!

"Lamont, of course!” Now, this was something I could get excited about ... and suck up to her about. “I didn't realize he had any new projects that had come out."

"New?” Why didn't Cathleen look as excited as I felt? “These are from the seventies, and his esteemed career goes back as early as the fifties. He's worked with some of the most distinguished actors to ever grace the screen, including Patty Duke, whom I personally adore. When a writer wants something translated into art for a viewing audience, they think of one name: Lamont Johnson. What work of his are you familiar with?"

Okay, she was going to flunk me.

"
Spacehunter: Adventures in the Forbidden Zone.
"

"Fuu...” There it was again! Fortunately, she didn't stick around to expand on it. Cathleen just turned and walked away, shaking her head the entire time. I don't even think she turned her classic Heart on.

What was I doing again? Oh, yeah. I continued on towards the student center so I could “come out.” This really had to be one monster of a typo because there was no other explanation for it. Something was obviously in the paper, and the only thing that would pertain to me was my column.

I thanked God that people couldn't see my face as I finished the trip over to where I hoped one of my friends was waiting for me. It was going to be absolute chaos with all those people there, but at least I could find a paper and figure out this joke that everybody but me seemed to be in on.

I didn't bother taking my hat off when I stepped inside the building. The newsstand was full, and I grabbed a paper and headed downstairs to find someplace to sit. Curiosity got the better of me halfway down the steps, and I started flipping through the pages until I found my column. After glancing through it once ... twice ... I still couldn't find a typo or any other problem.

Someone put a hand on my shoulder, and I jumped.

"I've been looking all over for you.” Ryan's face was grim. “I even skipped chemistry because I wasn't sure how you'd...” He stopped. “Did you see it yet?"

"No.” I showed him the paper. “But I've been looking for it. I don't see a typo, and I have no clue why these people keep coming up and saying this really weird thing to me."

"Here.” He took the paper and opened it up to a page near the end. “Read the classifieds."

"Okay.” I started at the top of the column. “Earn big money catching fish off the coast of Alaska.” That wasn't it. “Free cooking lessons from the staff of the Commons on how to make baked alaska.” They knew how to cook? “Now taking advance orders on Amorous Anal Angie Adulterers Alaska.” I looked up at Ryan. “Is this about something you want for your birthday?"

"Go one more down."

"Personals.” So this was it. “Andy Stevenson—just come...” I stopped reading and suddenly felt short of breath. “Just come out.—Tristan."

Ryan didn't say a word. Well, what could he offer me but condolences and a gun anyway? While the gun was for hunting Tristan down, the condolences would be for me once Alan got hold of a paper. It didn't mention him, but it didn't have to, in this case. Didn't I make a promise that my middle name was Discretion?

"I'm screwed."

"I saw Tristan sitting downstairs when I was looking for you earlier."

I took my hat off and continued on down the steps. There was no reason to get upset or angry. Hell, I was surprised he hadn't taken out a huge full-page ad in the
New York Times
before now, anyway. No, I wasn't upset or angry at all. I was feeling a little pissed off and volatile, but that's about it.

Tristan was eating alone at one of the booths, and I sat down across from him.

"I warned you about what I was making my mission in life. I even spelled it out for you.” He acted like he was talking to a child. “This is just the beginning. You're gay, plain and simple, but you're also closeted. Once that barrier is down, forget inhibitions, baby!"

"Can't you just masturbate like everybody else?” I gripped the table with both hands so I wouldn't try and strangle him. “And just in case you didn't realize it, the details of my private life aren't for public disclosure."

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I lie? At least I've never tried to hide who am I or what I like.” His expression turned sour. “You, on the other hand, seem to enjoy having the best of both worlds. You want everyone to like you for who they see, some naive and innocent kid, but not for who and what you really are."