My Big Fat Gay Life (17 page)

Justin and I were in a children’s wading pool with a baby hippopotamus. The hippo was in distress, and Justin and I were trying to lift it out of the pool. Justin was naked, of course, and I was wearing a puffy, padded sumo wrestler’s outfit: the kind used for games in pubs and bars around the world.

I was trying to grip the baby hippo by its rear end, and Justin had managed to grasp it around the neck. We strained to lift the hippo, struggling with its size, weight, and slippery skin.

“Next time,” I gasped at Justin between ragged breaths, “you can have this end!”

With one final mammoth effort, we managed to lift the baby hippo out of the pool. It stood there quite calmly, obviously relieved to be free. Then it turned its head and looked directly at me.

“Any other girl,” it said in Ruth’s distinctive voice, “would be slightly disturbed at this sight.”

I opened my eyes to find Ruth standing next to my bed. She was smiling a sad smile. My head was foggy and I couldn’t collect my thoughts. The dream disappeared in a puff of smoke, and the events of the previous night came rushing back.

Quentin and Cujo were dead: brutally murdered! The Police had questioned me for hours, and they were very apologetic that they hadn’t taken my complaints about Bruce more seriously. Patricia and Justin had consoled me: Patricia eventually giving me one of her sleeping tablets so that I could get some fitful and restless sleep, resulting in my current foggy state of my mind.

Then it struck me: Ruth was here! Here, in my apartment. She’d left her own apartment to come here, just when I needed her.

“Ruth,” I said, sitting up in bed. I was touched by her strength - her love for me had overridden her fears and depression. Her act of coming to my apartment was the final straw, and the dam wall that’d been holding back my tears ruptured. I burst into tears.

She sat down next to me and wrapped me in a hug. Justin, who had entangled himself with me while we were sleeping, woke up and joined the hug. He was kissing Ruth repeatedly, all over her face.

“How?” I asked Ruth. “Why did you come here?”

“Patricia convinced me,” she replied, “and I realised that if I ever wanted to have a good relationship with my two favourite men again, I had to make the effort.”

I disentangled myself from the group hug and went into the lounge room, wanting to give Ruth and Justin some time alone. Patricia and Donovan were there: Donovan was napping in a chair, and Patricia was pacing like a ferocious tiger.

“Oh Darling!” she cried when she saw me. “Are you feeling OK?” She wrapped me in a hug of her own, then released me and wiped the last few tears from my face. Donovan stirred from his nap and looked at us.

“I’m OK,” I answered.

Donovan came over and hugged me as well. “While you were sleeping the Police stopped by. The CCTV footage from the park clearly shows it was Bruce.”

I felt numb, and fell into the sofa. My mind was awash with mixed feelings and emotions: grief, sadness, guilt, and disbelief all fought with each other for priority. I needed to talk to Quentin - he’d help me sort through all this. Then I remembered I’d never talk with Quentin again. More tears welled up in my eyes.

“Have they caught him yet?” I asked Donovan.

“Not yet,” he replied, “but it’s just a matter of time.”

“Right!” said Patricia. “How about I make us all some breakfast?”

Donovan and I exchanged scared looks. Just then, Ruth and Justin emerged from the bedroom.

“Patricia, you’ve done enough,” Ruth said. “Let me cook breakfast.”

Donovan and I felt relief - Patricia wasn’t exactly known for her cooking skills. I threw a quick appreciative glance at Ruth.

Ruth busied herself in the kitchen. Justin walked over to Patricia and hugged him, and she took the opportunity to slap him on his bare butt. “Thank you,” he whispered in her ear.

The building intercom buzzed, and Justin walked over to answer it.

“Hello,” he said, lifting the handset. He listened for a few seconds, and then said, “sure, send him up.”

“You better throw some more bacon in the pan,” he said to Ruth after he’d hung up the handset. “We have another visitor.”

A minute later there was a knock on the door. Justin opened it to reveal Kento in the doorway. Kento didn’t even glance at Justin’s naked form. I became quite anxious, not sure what to expect from this visit. Kento strode over to me and wrapped his arms around me.

“I’m so sorry!” he said. “I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you. I’m so sorry I doubted you.”

The phone rang, waking me from my sleep. I’d fallen asleep on the sofa again. I slept there a lot lately - it’s too upsetting to sleep alone in the bed I’d shared with Justin.

The call went to voicemail, however the phone rang again, almost immediately. I looked at the incoming caller’s number, but I didn’t recognise it so I chose to ignore it. Again, it went to voicemail, and again the phone rang straight away.

“Go away,” I muttered, pulling the blanket over my head. The third call went to voicemail, and the phone remained silent this time. Relieved, I sought oblivion in sleep again, only to be interrupted by a pounding on the door.

“Open the door Ruth!” Patricia’s voice came through the door. “I know you’re there! You’re agoraphobic: where else would you be?”

I groaned and tried to ignore her, but she can be quite insistent when she wants to. She continued pounding on the door.

“Open up! Sebastian needs you.”

Reluctantly, I stood up and walked to the door.

“Please Patricia, leave me alone,” I said.

“No,” she countered. “Let me in. Something awful has happened, and Sebastian needs his family around him.”

I opened the door and Patricia barged her way in.

“Right!” she said briskly. “Go jump in the shower. You’re coming with me.”

“What? No social pleasantries?” I responded, just as briskly.

“No time,” she said. “I’ll fill you in with the details on the way to Sebastian’s.”

“I can’t,” I said. “I can’t go out there. The world is a horrible place.”

“Yes, it is,” she agreed, to my surprise. She walked to the window and threw open the curtains, letting natural light into the apartment for the first time in weeks. Horrifyingly, it also let me see outside. “And it just got more horrible.”

I retreated to the bedroom to escape the sight of the outside world. She followed me there, unrelenting.

“Enough’s enough,” Patricia said, quite brusquely. “You can’t stay here any longer. Stop wallowing in self-pity - you’re stronger than that! Now go and get ready. You’re coming with me to Sebastian’s apartment if I have to drag you kicking and screaming by your hair. You’re family, and we aren’t going to let you hide any longer. Plenty of women lose babies - get over it! You’re not the only one suffering. Sebastian needs you, Justin needs you, and you need to realise that life goes on.”

I lowered myself onto my bed, breathless and feeling as though she’d punched me in the solar plexus. Patricia grabbed my arm and dragged me into the bathroom. She forced me to shower, dried my hair, applied some make-up, and then dragged me out of my apartment.

* * *

During the taxi ride to Sebastian’s apartment, Patricia filled me in with the horrid details of Quentin’s murder. I hadn’t known Quentin that well, but the fact he’d meant a lot to Sebastian, and that Sebastian was suffering, made Quentin’s murder more real to me - it struck much closer to home.

We arrived at the apartment and I walked into the bedroom. Justin had wrapped himself around Sebastian, and they were sleeping. Sebastian had a pained look on his face, even in his sleep.

“Any other girl would be slightly disturbed at this sight,” I said.

I was dreaming of Bruce. It had to be a dream - he was standing on a revolving platform, and no matter which direction he faced he always presented a face to me. The faces changed as he turned: one face was sweet and loving, another was deceitful, another was mocking, and yet another had crazy eyes. A pounding on the door woke me up, dissolving the parade of faces.

“Open up, it’s the Police,” came an officious voice through the door.

Bleary eyed, I opened the door to two police officers.

* * *

After the Police had left, I turned on the TV to a news channel. I sat on the edge of my sofa, watching a news report of Quentin’s murder. I recognised the park opposite Sebastian’s apartment building. Bruce’s face filled the screen as the news anchor reported on the manhunt for the suspect.

When the Police were questioning me, they’d asked me for Bruce’s surname. I had to admit I didn’t know it. How can you live with a man for so long and not know his surname? I was gutted. I hadn’t known Bruce at all. The whole time he was with me, he was deceiving me. I felt my world slip away from under my feet, along with my strong sense of self. I’d been wrong - I’d been so wrong, in so many ways.

Changing into street clothes, I ran to Sebastian’s building. My head was pounding, and my passionate mind was in full control. Instead of lust or anger at betrayal, the strong emotions it was now feeling were guilt and shame. The concierge announced me, and I went up to Sebastian’s apartment. Someone, I’m not sure who, let me in. I went straight to Sebastian and hugged him.

“I’m so sorry!” I said. “I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you. I’m so sorry I doubted you.”

* * *

I left Sebastian’s apartment shortly after breakfast. He’d forgiven me instantly, of course: that’s how Sebastian is. I felt a strong desire to stay there and just be there for him, but I didn’t want to be the cause of any awkwardness or risk turning the situation into being about me somehow. Sebastian and I will talk about what happened between us at some stage – I have no doubt of that – but now isn’t the time. There’s a lot I need to say to him, a lot I need to get off my chest, but that can wait.

Self-doubt is new to me. I doubted my belief that everyone would think, act, and react like me, and I doubted my ability to read situations and people. Most of all, I doubted my black and white view of the world. I wasn’t sure if I’d just gone through some sort of emotional growth spurt, or if this situation was just some weird anomaly and things would soon go back to normal.

I needed an outside perspective: a view from a distance. Ordinarily I’d go running to Sebastian at the slightest sign of a crisis, and I’m sure if I’d said to him I needed to talk he’d be there for me, but he has other things on his mind at the moment. Also, I didn’t want to talk about me with him today and create another situation where it’s all about me. Is that called consideration? Is that another sign of an emotional growth spurt? I called Ian, the naturist massage client, and he invited me over to his home immediately. I should stop referring to him as a client in my head: he’s fast becoming a friend.

* * *

Ian prepared coffee as I brain-dumped all my thoughts and emotions onto him. There was no logical sequence of events, and there were many contradictions and back tracks, however he managed to keep up. He kept silent, apart from the occasional insightful question to help clarify something in his mind. When I’d finished, I felt lighter - empty somehow. It felt good to admit that I’d been selfish, jealous, and irrational. It was a cleansing experience to admit I was wrong.