The Price Of Dick (27 page)

The book came together nicely thanks to
Alex’s constant input and feedback. It had a lyrical quality, like old-fashioned love stories of long ago. The trainer became my new muse. One who had innocence and strength and purity of heart. A true believer in all things good. An openly gay man. The kind of muse I should have been inspired by from the beginning. He convinced me I could turn the darkness in my life into light in the story. To show the rightness of people through the pageantry of love. He wanted me to find my heartstrings and retune my soul through the book. And strangely, as I wrote the tale of the simple love of two teenage boys, I found that I could better deal with anything objectionable in my own life. The hope I gave to the characters in my book became my own as well. Somehow writing it reaffirmed a belief I’d lost a lifetime ago. Alex read every word I wrote. Then we would walk in the night air and discuss it.

What
Alex was cleverly doing with our nightly walks was incrementally increasing our distances each time. I didn’t realize it because we never took the same route twice and we never stopped talking about
The Memory of You
. My endurance was picking up nicely, as was my fitness level. My muscles were feeling used again. Before I knew it, we were power-walking eight miles or more a night. I looked better in the mirror; my color, skin tone, everything. More than that, he was changing my outlook on almost everything.

I still had to contend with Dick
’s behavior through the week. We were buying separate groceries, cooking individual meals, eating by ourselves at times that didn’t overlap each other's. On the few occasions he chose to address me, he again refused to look directly at me. I watched television in my room alone while he watched in the great room. Dolores would come by during the workweek to join him for dinner and a movie. I closed them out with my office door. The frostiness between us was arctic. At some point in time I knew it had to end and he would be forced to return to some form of reality. We both had too much invested in the condo and studio. Some kind of working truce needed to be figured out. I kept telling myself it was another one of his phases. We’d been through them before. Time heals old wounds...blah, blah, blah. A part of me hoped he would finally do what would make his mommy happy: marry the woman, move in with her and leave me with the condo and studio. After all, we’d chosen it due to its compatibility with the needs of our photography business. It only made sense. We could figure the financial arrangements out as we went along. We could go our merry ways none the worse. Maybe even work our way back to an amicable friendship.

By summer
, Alex had me jogging, something I’d never thought I’d do again. I couldn’t believe it. We accomplished the first mile by walking a block, jogging a block and then walking again for the rest of the distance. Then we worked it up to two miles. After that I paid no attention to the distance. We were too far into the discussion of my novel, which was now almost completed. I was feeling like a new man. I bought a set of weights and he wrote out a program for me to follow to rebuild myself. ‘Design a new J.J.,’ were his words. I was liking who I was again. I was enjoying my new friendship with someone who had an incredible optimism and a wholesome kindness. We’d grown remarkably close as friends in the last half-year of my ordeal. He was both saint and savior to me. Not to mention charming and tempting. I adored looking at him. We flirted all the time, teasingly. It was his way of encouraging me to train harder, and my way to relieve the tension of actually being impossibly attracted to him.

When summer was at its peak, he
’d strip off his shirt and I could watch his taut muscles running in front of me. That was one hell of an incentive.

I won
’t lie. I believed he could do better than his boyfriend, Jaime. He rarely talked about him, and I always assumed theirs was one of those relationships that coasted along without incident because they were handsome and looked good together. If you checked their social media pages there was nothing but pictures of the two of them doing fun and exciting things. They had bungee-jumped together and parachuted from a plane. There were pictures of them doing the Tough Mudders, all scratched up and dirty, but smiling with their head band trophies, doing thumbs up and ‘V’ for victory finger signs. There wasn’t a hint of anything unhappy in a single picture. I particularly loved one of them in bed together with Dali between them. They seemed to be a couple to make all others envious. I, better than anyone, should know the truth behind a photo is rarely as it appears.

Dick was aware that I left every night to run with a trainer and that I was writing a book
, even though he saw neither. You couldn’t live with someone else within the confines of a house and not overhear what they were doing. He couldn’t have been more disinterested. When he accidentally ran into Alex for the first time, passing him while coming up the stairs to the condo, that all changed. I could hear the bars of his cage rattle. Jealous beautiful men do that to other beautiful men. I didn’t bother to make introductions. Alex made no attempt to introduce himself. They passed each other with interlocking, silent stares. That only tipped Dick’s cage further. Doubtless, he imagined all manner of things going on between us. I would have.

His
Bad Mojo
got worse after that. I could hear his exasperated sighs as I got ready to leave at midnight for our run. He began coming home early on Tuesday, packing his overnight bags to go to Dolores’s, abandoning the house to me. He would stay until Sunday night, the beginning of the next week, when he’d return to do his laundry. He’d be gone again by Tuesday, leaving behind nothing but bad vibes. The idea that I was acquiring a life outside of his world seemed to seriously annoy him. He didn’t want to be around anymore than was necessary.

The wonderful thing
about Dick not being present was Alex began to drop by earlier when he had free time from work. During the fall and winter months when it was too cold to be outside, he’d take me through my weight workouts at home. Then the popular DVD workouts. He was teaching me cardio dance. It was great fun, challenging and exhausting. He made me laugh all the way through it because I simply had no rhythm, but my body was changing quickly with his more personal (training!) attention. I was grateful. I could have never afforded to pay him as a trainer. I was glad he became my workout buddy instead.

Behind the scenes though, I didn
’t know that he was spending time with me because he was lonely as well. Jaime had bought a house two hundred miles away, near a recreational lake; a prime piece of land because of its wilderness scenery and nearness to a golf course. He was refurbishing it while establishing himself as a real estate agent in that area. It would be a gold mine for him with the well-to-do flocking there to build their huge mansions for less cash than they would spend here, nearer the city. It didn’t take Superman’s vision to see that Alex, when he discussed this, was not happy with the idea. It left him with little to do after he got off work. Rather than hang out with his parents, with whom he lived, he decided it was more fun to beat me into shape as his own refurbishing project.
Lucky me
.

I
’d learned a bit about him over the time we spent together. He was a Buddhist like his mother and grandmother. He’d been raised in two faiths, the other being Christianity. He accepted little of the latter’s doctrines, but celebrated the holidays with his family out of respect. He was a lacto-ovo-vegetarian which meant he was a vegetarian but still ate eggs and drank milk. He didn’t care for bars or nightclubs, would only go when Jaime asked him. He rarely drank, competed regularly in Tough Mudders, and was worried his relationship with Jaime would end if he was asked to move far away from where he could do business as a personal trainer.

It was the first time he
’d mentioned them having problems in their relationship. It made me feel selfish that I’d monopolized our time together with so many of my own problems without even thinking to ask how his life was going.

“
Jaime’s my first true love. We’ve known each other since we were kids. I used to play in his parents' yard because they had all the neat stuff. The real jungle gyms, a trampoline, and pool. I didn’t even know he was gay until we were almost ready to graduate from high school. He pretty much kept it a secret. But then he came out in his first year of college,” Alex's eyes had that faraway look of someone remembering fond things. “He had a couple of boyfriends then. I never did. I was kind of afraid to come out. But I did, right after college. I remember looking at one of your pictures I saved on my computer of two beautiful men sleeping naked together in each other’s arms. I knew I had to come out if I wanted that to happen for me. If I wanted to find love, I couldn’t do it by hiding. So I told my folks. And they were fine. And I told my friends and they were fine.”

He
smiled. “Jaime came into the gym the next week. Told me he had heard and asked me out. We’ve been together ever since.” I had to pay close attention to see the small fretting which was knitting his dark brows together. “I hoped we’d get married and find a nice place here close to my work; raise a brood of dogs. Be like one of your romantic pictures.”

There was no way to convey how
proud his story had made me of my own work. I had goose bumps and a lump in my throat.

“
I worked hard to get my degree in Exercise Science. I spent a lot of time studying to get my Personal Training Certification and then find a gym to allow me to build up a clientele. The competition is tough out there. This isn’t an easy job, but I’m starting to make good money.” He looked off to the side like he was contemplating that wish list he had for Jaime and himself. “Then he bought that place out in the middle of nowhere with no gym for miles anywhere around. He didn’t even tell me about the place until after he bought it. He’d have a job out there, but I’d have nothing to do. I can’t drive two hundred miles to work.”

I could see his mind work
ing by studying his body language. Little fidgets in his fingers, the shuffling of his feet. The eye lids that fell like drapes. He was sad, but braced. Disappointed, but not beaten. He was a survivor and an idealist. For someone so young, he was resilient. He rarely let anger gain enough of a hold to affect his feelings.

Out of convenience and because of our growing closeness,
when Dick wasn't there, he began sleeping over after our nightly runs. The condo was closer to his work. He kept extra clothes in his car. I made a bed for him on the sofa. It made me feel good to have him there. I loved walking out and finding him in my home in the morning. Seeing him unwind from the sheets, shirtless and tousle-headed as I handed him a coffee, he paid me back with a smile. If Dick had hoped to make his presence feel needed by his absence, it was that very absence that allowed his void to be filled. I enjoyed my new company more.

It was in the middle of
the week when Dick came home without warning. I heard the key, the door open, and then close quietly. Footfalls moved toward the kitchen. That room faced directly into the great room where Alex lay asleep. It all dawned on me at once as I awakened. I leaped from my bed, stumbled through the corridor to the main living area. Dick stood motionless, staring straight at my guest: sleeping shirtless, in his underwear, curled in a ball.

As I entered the room his face turned on me.
Grinding teeth greeted me. Without a word, he pushed past me. His shoulder knocked me to the side as he made his way up to his room. I heard as he dressed and gathered some things. He kept his vision averted from mine as he left. Alex had slept through the entire thing as I stood guard over him. The wake behind Dick was radioactive with anger.

I wasn
’t worried. I sat, drank my coffee and watched as my handsome new friend slept, hands folded prayer-style under his head. His mouth was a lop-sided O and his snoring sounded like a cat purring. He had a stronger magic. Good mojo.

The novel was released
in late summer exactly a year after I began writing it. I’d put off a lot of shoots during the last few weeks of writing to buckle down and get it finished. I lived and breathed it day and night. Alex patiently listened to me re-read passages until I’m sure he had them memorized. I went through three edits, three eyestrains, and lost ten more pounds running and discussing it with him over this time. We joked that the characters ran and worked out with us. I loved it, laughed it, cried it. I gave birth to it like a baby, and I was frayed nerves and chewed nails the day it was released. Alex was there to see me through, to make certain I’d have fun with it along with the angst. He planned a picnic for the week after the release. He rented a gazebo in the neighboring park. There’d be a lot of his friends, a lot of mine; mostly models from my shoots. It would be a totally gay event for a gay book. Jaime would be there. Dali would as well. There would be beer and wine and soda. Hot dogs and burgers and veggie burgers. There’d be Frisbee and volleyball.

I did tell Dick. I thought he might show some semblance of pride for me in tackling and conquering such a daunting project that didn
’t involve photography. Predictably, he ignored me. He turned up the volume on the television to not overhear my calls of congratulations. Stewing in his own anger made him look different. All the features I’d once thought were sexy now looked hard, disfigured. Alex said it was from a crippled spirit—flesh only mirrored what was within.

He and
Dolores planned a weeklong fishing trip right after the book’s release and just before the picnic. I assumed he wanted to escape so he wouldn't be forced to witness any part of my joy. I secretly hoped he’d come back engaged, pack up his belongings and move on. This little investigator girl had already won the medal for hanging onto him the longest. Maybe he could make his Catholic mommy proud with her. Unvoiced thoughts like these should have told me that even my subconscious had no hope for repairing our friendship.

I certainly didn
’t expect the turn out we had for the picnic. The gazebo and the grounds surrounding it were swarming with gays. In less than a week, the book was already garnering great reviews and getting tremendous word-of-mouth. I was scheduled to do interviews;
that
had never happened to me as a photographer. My book party picnic overflowed with people. There was no hope of me learning everyone’s name. I could only shake hands and say thanks to every well-wisher and fan. I certainly felt out of place.

As a photographer, I was used to living and working in the claustrophobic confines of my studio with very little public attention outside blog and magazine features. This changed with the book, and
the attention was taking on a life of its own that I wasn’t yet equipped to understand. I’d never been a celebrity, nor wanted to be one. Too old and not pretty enough, I joked. Now people knew my name and what I looked like. They associated those bits of information with my being an author. As they learned that I was first and foremost a photographer, many were surprised. I was excited to talk to each person who’d read the book and liked it. They all related to it for different reasons. I felt accomplished and thankful for the positive response after my hard work.

I caught
Alex grinning at me from a distance as I made my way through the handshakes and ear bending. He was as much responsible for the book's success as anyone. Without him, I doubt I’d ever have started writing it. I waved to him. He waved back, but I could see something wasn't right about him.

I chowed down on a couple of veggie burgers and a salad.
My association with Alex had turned me into an accidental vegetarian. I couldn’t even remember the last time I'd eaten meat. The smell emanating from the burger joints we ran past on our nightly run had begun to make me cringe. It seems since my "conversion" I had developed the ability to
smell
fat. For the most part, I’d also given up alcohol. Though not for any of the psychological reasons that would have been just as valid. Alex had convinced me I didn’t need the extra calories to burn off. I didn’t miss it, and he suggested we save those calories up for significant celebrations when wine was an absolute necessity.

Once
things settled down a bit at the picnic, I began to notice the distance that seemed to separate Jaime and Alex. Not spacial distance, they sat next to each other like always. They exchanged cordial words with everyone. They wore their naturally warm smiles, but their eyes held no affection. In fact, they were avoiding eye contact with each other. After a while, Alex moved to join Dali on the ground. It was a subtle repositioning to remove him from Jaime’s proximity. The dog was happy for his company. His tongue lapped Alex's arm, tail pounded the grass. No one else would have noticed the quiet indifference with which he and Jaime were treating each other.

Alex
maintained the host-face with gentlemanly ease, but I noticed that after a while, he had disappeared down the sandy walkway next to the lake. He took Dali with him. They went by themselves. He was throwing a stick, the dog chased and brought it back to him. Quietly, I slipped away from the group and jogged the distance to them. He turned at the sound of my sneakers crunching on the sand. His face lit up. Dali ran to me for a pet on the head, then back to his master as I caught up.

“
How are you liking the party?” he asked, and sent a stick whirling away from him down the beach, Dali fast on its heels.

“
It’s great, thank you. Makes me feel weird to be the center of attention.”

“
I bought the book and sent it to my grandmother,” he said.

That bit of news tickled me.
“You did? That was nice. You think she’ll like a love story between two gay boys?”

“
She thinks gay is a phase I’ll grow out of, like puberty. I thought it might help her understand me better.”

Maybe it would
. It was written in such a way so everyone could comprehend that the true nature of love was simple. And that brought me to my concern for him.

“
Are you okay?” I asked.

He looked at me and the magic curve of lips appeared.
“You’re very observant,” he said.

“
That’s what friends are for.”

“
It’s your party. You’re the center of the attention here.”

I ignored his parry.
“What happened?”

It took a while, but then,
“Jaime and I called it quits last night. Well, he did. I told him that I couldn’t move to the new house and quit my job. It was getting too close to the time to make the move and I knew I just couldn’t do it. I thought it was inconsiderate that he bought it without even discussing it with me. I can’t marry someone who doesn’t involve me in major decisions like that. I’m not the kind of guy who can sit around the house like Mrs. Brady with nothing to do. I have a career here.”

We sat
down on a long weathered log. Dali patrolled the area for us. “That makes sense, “ I said.

“
We thought it better to keep up appearances for the party since it was already planned, but it’s a lot harder than I thought it would be.” He looked back to where everyone was still playing volleyball and drinking. Jaime was sitting, drinking and laughing with a group of men in the gazebo. No one had noticed our absence, even at my own party.

I felt
pain for him, for the anguish I knew he was going through. When you invest hope in another person and they walk away, it hurts. We all feel it. We all do it. I had done it to Pat. There’s a high survivability factor, and it's common among gay men for everyone to remain friends after a romance ends. Personally, I thought this was best for him. For a lot of reasons. “I’m here if you need me," I told him. “Are you all right?”

“
There is an old Chinese tale my grandmother used to tell me as a child about two lovers. Straight, of course. A witch was jealous of the man’s affections for the woman and she poisoned him with a glass of wine and he died in his sleep. When his body fell into his bed and his spirit left, another wandering spirit saw it fall away like an empty shell. The soul had wandered in sadness for many years and thought it saw another chance to find happiness in life and not be sad any longer. So it slipped into the vacant body like it was a suit of clothes and took the man’s form. When the dead man’s lover came upon him the next day, the man in front of her was no longer the one whose smile touched her heart. In the light, he cast a slightly different shadow, and the song he sang no longer serenaded her ears. He was there in sight and sound, but all the things that had made them soul mates were gone.”

“
Because he had a different soul.” I finished it for him. A morality tale.

I saw the hurt in his eyes, but he still wore the smile as armor.
“It’s not because we’re better or worse. It’s because we’re different.”