Andy Stevenson vs. The Lord of the Loins (20 page)

"You most certainly will
not
be telling them about you and me,” Alan corrected.

"Better living through denial?” I retorted, then turned back to Ryan. “Look, why don't you just tell them that Troy meant to invite me to the club meeting, and that Tristan is only bugging you because of me. Heck, blame it all on me.” It made sense. “If you like, I'll even call them up and—"

"
No!
” Ryan took emphatic to a whole new level. “I don't want you calling them and I don't want you calling me, either. The whole bunch of you can go do whatever you want and enjoy as many inches as you want, only without me. Leave me out of it and leave me out of this.” He gave us one last look then turned and left. I started to go after him, but Alan held my arm.

"Give him some space. He'll come back once he's worked it out."

I started to object, only I knew he was right. Maybe Ryan did need a break from us. It couldn't be easy to go through what he had been dealing with, especially when there didn't seem to be any easy way to convince people that one was really heterosexual without actually proving it the old-fashioned way.

"Boy got issues.” Kim pulled a phone book off the shelf and started searching for the number to the restaurant.

"This is kind of serious.” I shouldn't have to remind her. “His parents think he's gay."

"But he's not,” she replied and continued scanning down one of the pages.

"Excuse me, Miss Shoulder-Pads-Mistress-Wannabe. They think he is."

"But he's not, Mr. Let's-Sample-Every-Ethnic-Race-On-Campus-Before-I-Graduate.” Kim glared at me. “I don't know why y'all are making such a big deal out of it. It's his life, not theirs, and not yours. Quit with the issues."

"I don't have issues,” I retorted.

"Tell her about the dream you had last night,” Alan chimed in.

"You be quiet!” I whirled on him.

"I'm sorry.” He faked a guilty look. “What was that you said to me earlier? Ribbit?"

Okay, we both had something on each other that we didn't want getting out. Damn, he was good!

"I want to make a toast tonight.” Kim came over and put her arms around Alan and me. “To the three of us and one absent friend, that we have a fantastic, satisfying and ultimately relaxing spring break."

"That's really sweet, Miss Kim.” Alan put his arm around her.

"So, are you and Andy going to see each other when you're back home?"

"No,” I responded with a twinge of bitterness. “Mr. Thoughtful here has informed me he doesn't think it's a good idea that we get together over the break."

"That's because you get weird when you talk about it.” Alan's brow furrowed. “I wouldn't mind if you made it sound like it would be a normal meeting between friends, but you start making that face and doing the I-want-to-make-out happy dance thing that you do, and I'm not sure my family is ready to see that yet."

"This would be a normal meeting between friends,” I defended myself. “I thought maybe you'd come over so my parents could meet you and get to know you as my friend.” That sounded normal enough. “And when they left to go out to dinner one night, we could finally have sex."

Alan's eyes nearly popped out of his head, and he turned bright red. Kim had herself a good laugh, though, and I was beaming.

"And that,” he finally managed, “dear jurors, is why I strangled him..."

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The words
fantastic, satisfying
and
relaxing
don't even come close to describing the nine days of pure hell and cold showers I went through during my spring break. I thought Alan might only be kidding about not seeing me, but he turned out to be true to his word. To make matters worse, the one time I did call over to his house shortly after I arrived home, I could hear his brother in the background thanking him again and again for the awesome Samantha Fox posters now hanging in his room.
My
awesome Samantha Fox posters!

So, what did I do? My days began early, shortly before my father left for work. It always irked him that I didn't have any classes before eleven a.m., and especially because he knew I knew it irked him and I enjoyed it. So, when I was home for breaks like this and not working, it became my job to rise from bed at seven a.m., have my tea then take Kira for a long walk. I loved Kira, but she was a bitch. Her blue eye seemed to say “I love you...” while the brown eye finished the sentence with “to serve me.” Typical husky.

I'd take a shower after returning home, eat some break-fast, start laundry or whatever household chores had to be done, then it was time to join in the time-honored tradition of “running a few errands” with Mom. I've loathed this since high school because it always started with “I need to stop by the cleaners, then F and M and Oakridge Market, then we'll come home.” It sounded simple enough, but what she neglected to mention were all the places in between. “Since we're out, we can stop by Switzerland and pick up some chocolate, then Paris for some croissants and Japan for dessert.” Yes, it's a bit of an exaggeration, but you get the point.

Aside from that, I did get to spend some quality time with Mable and apologize for telling her that her bike tires would explode if she didn't replace the summer air with winter air. Of course, I felt it was my duty to warn her that since she had changed the air, she would also now need to change it again in the spring or the tires would implode. The frostbite had healed nicely, and she warmed up to me easily enough when she saw I'd rented her
Madman, The Curse
—with Wil Wheaton in a fabulous underwear shot—and
Near Dark
. She made us some grilled cheese sandwiches and hot chocolate with assorted colored marshmallows, then we sat down to watch bloodshed. Life was good.

Mom and Dad asked me several times how the semester was coming along, if I felt I was doing well in my classes, what my future plans were and, oh, yes, did I want to talk to a counselor about my strange behavior over the past few months? Oh, how I just wanted to spill a few details about my life. The only problem with that was if Alan did actually stop by, they'd never leave us alone. How was a kid supposed to score if his parents wouldn't leave because they were afraid he was going to have sex? Where was the logic in that? It's not like I could get pregnant.

Maybe I should just come clean to them. Wouldn't that be easier than having them force the issue later in life? After all, it wasn't like I was going to be bringing any sorority girls home ... ever. Why not just come out and say it? How bad could it be to just come out and say “Mom and Dad, I'm gay"?

"I just can't believe it!” Mom screamed. “My son ... my only son ... a..."

"Don't say it, Mom,” I pleaded. “If it causes you that much pain, then don't say it. Maybe you just aren't ready to face the reality yet."

"Boy,” my father bellowed, “as a police officer, I deal with harsh reality every day, but this ... If the guys at the station ever got wind of this, it'll be all over for me. How could you do this to us?"

"Do this to
you
?” I was getting angry. “How do you think I feel? This isn't a picnic for me, either."

"I could handle you being a ... a ... Republican, even ... well, maybe ... hopefully not.” She burst out crying. “Just not a ... comedian."

"Comedian?” Was she joking? “What? That's not what I said. I told you I was..."

"We heard what you said.” My father stood up and in one swift motion had me pinned against the wall. He then slowly lifted me up off of the ground with one hand and breathed his dad-breath in my face. “You're jovial. The only things jovial people ever amount to besides second-rate MTV game show hosts and those really strange singing telegram weirdoes who dance and try to rhyme words that don't really rhyme are comedians! Do you want that? Do you think your mother and I want that?"

"Of course not, but that isn't what I said I—"

"Make your mother laugh,” he growled.

"What?"
I all but screamed. Like that could happen! “How am I supposed to do that? Have you ever even figured out what makes her laugh?"

His response was to lift me up even higher off the ground.

"You have to ask yourself one question. Do I feel funny today? Well, do you, laughing boy?"

I woke up startled and agitated, especially with the dawning realization that Alan might actually be right about one specific part of my life that he had no business being right about.

"I do have issues!” My God, I'd hardly ever been able to make my mother laugh.

I spent the rest of my vacation sketching out scenes for my story and listening to my mother remind me that I needed to keep studying, that knowledge was power. Yes, well, I knew I was gay. How exactly was that helping me?

Fortunately, the weather outside had suddenly turned unseasonably warm, so I didn't mind walking Kira as much, especially since I could take a break from the power of knowledge. Also, because I wasn't spending the entire time concentrating on moving as quickly as I could to escape the bitter cold, I was able to brainstorm ideas and run scenarios through my mind with little bits of dialogue.

The basic plot and premise mirrored the events of last summer, but I wanted to change little things so that no one knew I was really writing about myself. For instance, I never called Grandma by her first name. Her brothers and in-laws referred to her either by an abbreviated version of her name or a nickname. I did, however, leave in the drinking part, which was probably a dead giveaway. Jordan remained Jordan because it suited him, the locations remained the same, the beach bit was intact as was the club...

Okay, I didn't change too much at all. The innocent would remain the innocent and the guilty would definitely come after me. None of that mattered, though. Gonad-Grinder Gevaultski would have her real-life drama and I would have my grade.

I knew that my story would be about coming to terms with being gay, but where would it climax? There was nothing like a damn fine finish. Life didn't always have riveting endings, though. Sometimes a story ended on a soft note and the promise of more adventure to come. Endings could be beautiful that way. Then, too, looking at my current situation, they could also be a real pisser!

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The first mistake I made ... No, that's not even close to being accurate. The latest mistake ... Nope, that's not quite right, either. Let me try this again.

Of the many and numerous mistakes I've made and will continue to make in life, I made yet one more by going back to school a day early.

There we go.

Most of the students were coming back on Sunday, but I wanted the peace and quiet necessary to dedicate some time to the actual writing of the story and not just the sketches I'd been working on. It was a great plan, too, but there was one minor hitch.

"I'm going to make all your dreams come true tonight,” Tristan informed me when I picked up the phone. How did he know I was back early?

"You're being castrated?” I didn't skip a beat.

"Better.” He laughed.

"Lobotomized?"

"Someone's cranky from repression tonight.” He didn't give me a chance to respond to that one. Actually, I don't know what I would have said because I
was
feeling a little repressed. I missed my Alan! “A friend of mine managed to rent a place for a few hours tonight, and we're invited to ... help each other discover what it means to be gay. I figured that since you got back to school early and I promised to take you to something like this, tonight would be the perfect time for it. What do you say?"

"What time are you going to pick me up?"

That was my next mistake.

I completely forgot to ask what I should wear and how much money I was supposed to bring with me. Oh, well. I'd make an educated guess and hope for the best because this evening would be really cool! Actually, it wasn't cool in a cold sense, since it was warm enough outside to only have to wear a light jacket. The evening would be cool in an excitement sense, since I'd get to meet other gay people, ask them questions, share my experiences and maybe even network a little.

Tristan picked me up around ten, which struck me as a bit late for a social gathering. They didn't meet at a bar, did they? He said a friend of his rented a place. What kind of a place rented this late at night, and on a Saturday to boot?

Well, I'd find out soon enough as his Grand Prix—a Prix for a prick—raced along until we got to the freeway; then it raced along some more until we entered an area of the city I'd never been in before. I think we were somewhere in the downtown area by the looks of things, though.

"Busy night down here,” I remarked. Tristan had been pretty silent during the trip, and I wasn't sure if he was trying to be respectful of the tentative truce between us or if he was just biding his time.

"I suppose.” He nodded. “A lot of people come down here for the theatre houses. I think there's a play in one of the buildings near where we're going to be, so it might be a little hectic driving home. Guess we'll just have to stay a little later to avoid the traffic.” Plays ran this late? “Here. This is it."

He pulled into a parking area behind a number of buildings, which I assumed to be businesses.

"Now, when we go in, just remember to keep an open mind. If you don't, then there's really no point in you being here."

"Okay.” I could tell by the tone of his voice that he really believed what he was saying. That was good enough for me, at least for the moment. “After you."

We got out of the car and headed towards one of the backdoors. Tristan went in first, and I followed. Whatever it was I had expected—and I had no expectations—it wasn't ... what I expected.

I'd thought at first that maybe it was some back room in a bar or restaurant. Instead, I found myself standing in a small room with a man and a cash register. There was a door behind him, and where it led remained to be seen. Tristan greeted him and whispered something with a smile. The man nodded, handed us two small white towels and ushered us in.