The Mating of Michael (8 page)

“Nothing specific. She just said his friends were graduating from college and getting married and she was worried about how he was taking it.”

Jack nodded. “Please remind her that if she’d like to bring him in to see me again, I can make room for him on my calendar. Or I can recommend another therapist if she wants him to see someone who specializes in depression.”

“Sure, Jack.”

“So you’re continuing with Tommy for the time being?” Trudy asked.

“Yeah. His mother said he really looks forward to my visits. She thinks they’re helping.”

Phillip made a very unprofessional noise. Michael frowned at him.

Trudy tapped her pen on the table thoughtfully. “This is getting to be fairly long-term. Is there any chance Tommy could get overly attached to you?”

Michael thought about it. “We seem to be well-established as a friendship with the, uh, professional benefit. I don’t think there’s any danger of him getting hurt.”

Trudy smiled. “All right, Michael. Thanks for the update.” She turned to Jack.

“New patients…. Jack, tell us about Lem Peterson.” Trudy put up a client bio. Her laptop hooked into a projector that showed the patient bio form on the wall. It included a photo of a heavyset man in his forties, balding and with a beard. He had a shy, quiet look about him.

Jack nodded, looking grim. “This is Lem Peterson, forty-three-year-old tax accountant. I’ve had two sessions with him so far. His mother recently passed away, and he’s finally seeking treatment for long-standing emotional issues. He lived with her all his life, does his tax business out of a small office in the front of their home, and he’s never had a relationship of any kind. He has moderate social anxiety disorder, which he’s able to temper enough to meet with his accounting clients. But when he gets around a man he finds attractive, it can get severe. His mother was very religious and extremely derogatory about any form of sexuality at all. As a result, he has emotional issues around sex. He masturbates rarely, and when he does, he finds he can only do it in the closet of his bedroom, in the dark, even now that his mother is no longer in the house. The good news is, he realizes he has a problem and he’s seeking help.”

“So he identifies as homosexual, but he’s a virgin?” Trudy asked, getting to the heart of it.

“Yes. He’s known he was interested in men instead of women since he was eight years old, but his mother was very controlling. She drilled into him the idea that any sex was dirty. She lectured him frequently about girls, which worked, as it happens, but he ended up never dating anyone at all. He’s morbidly shy.” Jack paused and looked at Michael. “I’ve talked to Mr. Peterson about surrogacy. I’m meeting with him twice a week to deal with his emotional issues, but he has a lot of anxiety about the mere idea of physical contact. I think he’d benefit from some very gentle touch therapy soon, try to get him past his fear of even being in the same room with an available sexual partner.”

“I’d love to work with him.” Michael sat forward eagerly. It didn’t take a lot to tug on his heartstrings, and right then, they were playing Beethoven’s Ninth. The idea of someone reaching the age of forty-three without any human contact was so, so sad. Poor Mr. Peterson.

“Thanks,” Jack said with a smile. “You’re going to have to go extremely slowly. We can meet after this to go over a therapy plan.”

“I can go slow,” Michael said, looking at the picture of shy Lem Peterson. “Don’t worry, Jack. I’ll take good care of him.”

A
FTER
THE
meeting, Michael and Jack got a cup of coffee in the clinic’s staff kitchen and went into Jack’s office.

Michael perched on Jack’s desk. He started to spread his thighs and caught himself. Jack was definitely taken, and he was no dummy either. He’d called Michael on flirting more than once. Jack was happy and well now, and he didn’t stir Michael the way he had when he’d been alone and hurting. Still, Michael liked Jack a lot and old habits died hard.

“How’s Tony?” Michael asked.

Jack’s serious doctor face transformed into a warm, shy blush of a smile that took ten years off the man and would not have been amiss on, say, an old Dutch painting of a milkmaid and her beau.

“Aw! True love. You’re so cute,” Michael cooed.

“Shut it. I am never ‘cute’. Tony is great. He’s been doing a lot of insurance work lately, which he finds boring, but we’ve been, um, enjoying the low workload. Went camping last weekend.”

“Yeah?”

Jack bit back a smile and tried to get his love-struck face under control. “Yeah. We went over to the Olympics. It was a perfect weekend for it. What about you? Been having any non-work fun lately?”

Michael shrugged. “You know me. I’m all about my patients.”

Jack tapped Michael lightly on the forehead. “There’s part of you in there that’s not a nurse, you know.”

Michael huffed a laugh. “Yeah, and that guy reads Heinlein in bed in his underwear. Not a compelling picture, I can tell you.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Jack’s eyes twinkled. “Could be quite compelling—for the right guy.”

Michael felt a twist of disappointment in his gut.
Yeah
,
I thought I’d found that guy, but I was wrong
. He gave a dismissive shrug. “Anyway, let’s talk about Mr. Peterson.”

Jack gave him a look that said
I know you’re just trying to change the subject
, but he went with it anyway. “Lem agreed to meet you after I showed him your profile, but he’s extremely anxious about it. In fact, he told me flat out he didn’t think it would work, but he wants to try. He really does want to get better. Some part of him does, anyway.”

“I’ll take it slow with him,” Michael assured Jack. “Does he have an injury or performance issues I need to be aware of? E.D.?”

“No, I managed to coax him through a physical, which was extremely uncomfortable for him. He has no physical impairment, but his emotional issues are acute. I think just getting comfortable being around you at all would be a win. I’ve outlined some suggestions for your sessions, but of course, when you meet with him, you should follow your gut, as usual.”

“Don’t worry, Jack. I’ll be the prince of sensitivity. I won’t scare him.”

Jack put a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “I trust you, Michael. Believe me, if I didn’t, I wouldn’t send Lem Peterson to you.”

That touched Michael down deep in the core of who he was as a person. Jack didn’t give his approval lightly, and his validation of Michael as a surrogate meant more than just about anything in the world. Michael’s throat got a little lumpy with pride, but he swallowed it.

“Thanks, Jack. I really needed to hear that today.”

Jack studied his face. “Oh, yeah? Is everything okay? You know you can talk to me anytime.”

“Sure,” Michael said, though he had no intention of talking to Jack about his love life or lack thereof. At this point, all he could do would be to whine about not being able to meet the right guy, and given the people with
real
problems that they both dealt with day to day, that was just pathetic. “So. Do you want to go over your outline?”

W
HEN
M
ICHAEL
opened the door of his apartment, Lem Peterson looked as if he was on the verge of expiring from mortification. His milky blue eyes dropped immediately to stare at his shoes, and his round face went an alarming shade of tomato pink. He looked seconds away from fleeing, and Michael steeled himself to prevent that at any cost. He’d just have to be the sweetest, most innocuous little damn ray of sunshine Lem Peterson had ever seen.

“Mr. Peterson? It’s so lovely to meet you. Please come in. It’s drafty in the hall, isn’t it?”

Michael’s apartment was on Capitol Hill, Seattle’s gay neighborhood, and it was in a converted old house. Michael loved the high ceilings and 1900s moldings, but it was a bit cold. Nevertheless, the nudge was meant more to give Mr. Peterson a good reason to step inside. Thankfully, he did.

“I…,” Mr. Peterson said, before his throat apparently closed up. He was still looking at his shoes.

“Do you like hot tea? I made a nice pot of chamomile. But I can also make you a cup of coffee if you prefer.”

Choices. Give the man something to agree to.

“Tea is fine. I like tea. Thank you,” Mr. Peterson said in a very soft voice. He dared a glance at Michael’s face before blushing harder and looking down again.

Well, that was progress.

“Good. I’ll go get the tea. You can toss your coat on that chair and take a seat on the sofa in the living room. I’ll be right there.”

Michael stepped into his little kitchen, giving Mr. Peterson a chance to decide to take off his coat and sit down without any pressure. Michael’s living room was cozy and warm, with deep orange and red Oriental prints, an electric space heater, low lighting, and a few lit candles and incense. He hadn’t gone all out with the candles, didn’t want to scare Mr. Peterson off, but a few were always nice to create a relaxed ambience. Soft instrumental Hindu music played in the background.

When Michael brought out a tray with a pot of tea and two Japanese cups, Mr. Peterson was sitting at the far end of the couch, pressed up against the side. He’d removed his coat but not his scarf. Michael put the tray down on the coffee table and took a seat in the middle of the couch. He poured tea into both cups.

“Cream or sugar?”

“No, thank you.”

Michael held one of the cups out to Mr. Peterson. The man hesitated, then took it quickly, as if afraid to get too close to Michael’s hand. Michael made no comment.

“So you’ve been working with Dr. Halloran. What do you think of him?” he asked, sitting back casually.

Mr. Peterson sat with his thighs close together, leaning forward with both elbows on his knees. He was not a small man, at least two hundred pounds, and the position looked uncomfortable, poor guy. He held the small teacup with two beefy hands.

“I like Dr. Halloran,” he said quietly. He darted a glance at Michael. “I’m very nervous. I’m s-sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Michael said softly. “You can be whatever you want with me. You’re safe here.”

“But, I mean, you’re so….”

Mr. Peterson chugged his tea in a single gulp, then turned redder. Damn, the tea was hot. That probably hurt.

Michael spoke lightly. “I’m just me, and you’re just you. I hope we can be friends.”

Peterson darted a look at him and nodded once. “That would be nice.” He shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. “I’m really sweating. I’m sorry.”

“Are you hot? Sorry about that. I get chilled.” Michael got up and shut off the floor heater.

“It’s okay, I—”

“Can I take your scarf or would you like to keep it on?” Michael stood in front of Mr. Peterson, smiling.

Mr. Peterson’s eyes got stuck at Michael’s waist, darting back and forth as if fascinated by his sweater.

“Okay.” He swallowed loudly, took off the scarf, and handed it to Michael. Michael put it on the chair with Peterson’s coat and sat back down where he’d been before.

“What exactly makes you nervous about being here? Would you like to talk about that, Mr. Peterson?”

“Please call me Lem.”

“Thank you, Lem. You can call me Michael.”

“Okay. Michael.” Lem reached out and poured himself more tea, which Michael counted as a win. “You’re very… handsome. It makes me nervous to be around… men. I mean any man who…. you know, isn’t really old or a child or something. My mother… she was a wonderful person, but she didn’t approve of s-s-sexual feelings of any kind.” Lem blushed again. “Not that I have sexual feelings for you,” he said hurriedly. “I just get nervous around anyone when it’s even a possibility.”

Michael could tell Lem had been working with Jack. He seemed to have a handle on what the issue was, at least.

“I understand. But I think that’s sad, that your mom felt that way about sex. Sex is a part of love, and love is the nicest part of being a human being.”

“That’s what Dr. Halloran says.” Lem looked down at his cup. “I’d like to get better. I’d like to be able to maybe… m-meet someone. Or maybe be with someone I’ve already met.”

Michael perked up. “Oh? Do you like someone now?”

Lem tittered nervously. “Not exactly but… I have a client named John. I do his taxes. He… he seems to like me. I think. But I have no idea how to… I mean, I get like this when he comes to my office, and it’s….” He shrugged, unable to find the words to go on.

“That’s good, though,” Michael smiled. “It’s so much easier to work at therapy when you have a specific goal in mind, don’t you think? Have you talked to Dr. Halloran about John?”

Lem nodded. “He thinks it would be a good goal for me to be able to go out on a d-date with John. But I have a lot of work to do before I would feel comfortable doing that. I mean, look at me. I’m a mess.” He chuckled nervously.

He was, poor thing. His voice shook, his face was still red, and he had sweat gleaming on his temple. He couldn’t meet Michael’s gaze for more than a second at a time, and he looked about as uncomfortable as a Lutheran in a flophouse. But he was still there, bless him, and he was talking. That took heart.

“Well, I think you’re doing great. Tell me what kind of guys you find attractive.”

“I don’t know. I don’t really care about that. Just someone nice, I guess.”

Lem seemed put off by the question. Well, that topic was a no go. Michael made himself take a breath and try to get a read on the situation. He wanted to make Lem feel less anxious, and Michael sensed he was scared to death about what might be coming, about the possibility of contact. It was like being worried about a first kiss on a date. Maybe it would be better to just get it over with and make sure Lem knew the game plan.

“We’ll take this slow, Lem, don’t worry. For today, I’d love to just talk to you and get to know you better. And maybe we could try having you touch my hand. Would that be okay?”

Lem sort of shuddered and studied the cup in his paws. “I… how would that….”

“Do you have a pet?”

Lem smiled and glanced at Michael. “I have a Pekinese. Her name is Margaret. She’s a really sweet dog.”