Neither Here Nor There - 5. Chapter 5

Tango

I knew, of course, that someday Hudson’s path and my own would cross again. At another book reading or, perhaps, at a pride week event. The city’s queer population wasn’t so large that I could realistically expect never to encounter him.

I wanted to see him again, had even made my way out to his loft a few days ago, thinking I might catch him at home. My recent spurt of self-confidence had ebbed away the closer I'd drawn to his place. What would I say to him? How would I explain my departure, much less why I was seeking him out again? The hostile stares from a couple outside his building, clearly trying to determine the boy-girl question, had me turning around and heading back down the hill. I was accustomed to stares. Most didn't bother me, but some were clearly more confrontational than others. Cursing my cowardice, I’d given up on initiating contact with Hudson.

"Better leaving the next meeting to chance," I reasoned. Though I had planned to make sure he received an invitation to the opening night of my art show.

Confident that I had at least another two weeks to re-introduce myself to him, I was more than startled to see him sitting at a table in the coffee shop when I started my shift.

Thrilled and apprehensive, I shoved down the conflicting emotions and made my way to his table with a pot of coffee.

“Just treat him like any other customer, and try not to come off as a total basket case. He likely won’t recognize you,” I counseled myself.

Arriving at his table, I braced myself. “Refill?”

His eyes traveled upward. Those darkly seductive eyes that, just like the night we met, froze me, turned me hotly sexual and nervously shy. The fear of not being recognized was very real. I’d felt particularly nellie this morning, one of the rare days I left my binder behind and donned a skirt. A kilt really, purchased cheaply at a vintage clothier, but a skirt for all intents and purposes. His eyes took it all in: the kilt, the comfortable Chuck Taylors, my legs with their dusting of blond hairs I hadn’t shaved since my teens. The heavy kilt was topped with a white schoolboy short-sleeve shirt which I’d taken the time to press. That early day effort was concealed by the black serving apron I wore during my shift.

His eyes finally reached mine, and I searched for something in them to anchor my emotions. Did he remember? Was I too girly today? None of the rumors Jenna had shared linked him sexually to any woman. Always to men, either cis-gendered or trans. That was quite different from my fleeting grasp of gender.

“Hello Tango,” Hudson pushed his empty coffee mug in my direction.

He did remember then. Relief weakened my hold on the coffee pot and the liquid splashed over the side of the mug.

“Sorry.”
“Set that pot down.”

We spoke simultaneously as both of us reached for the paper napkins on the table and blotted the spill.

“I haven’t seen you in here before,” I ventured. Despite my rediscovered determination to make a place for myself in this world on my terms, I still felt unsure. Cowardly, I know, but I couldn’t bring myself to lead with my attraction to this man. I had to know, first, whether he was here because of me.

“I spent the last three days sipping coffee and munching scones at the café across the street.” Hudson rooted around in a messenger bag as he spoke, eventually pulling out a portfolio and flipping it open. There, behind a plastic sleeve, was the drawing I’d left for him.

My eyes darted from the drawing to the visage across the street. Café Pavilion. I saw it daily through the windows of my shop; the details were permanently etched on my brain. Even now, the scene through the window closely matched what I’d drawn for Hudson, all except for the two of us. Instead of sipping espresso at one of the Pavilion’s outside tables, we were here, over at Clockwork Coffee, where only one of us was a patron.

“Excuse me, could I get some coffee here?” a man at a nearby table hailed me and I must have looked torn because Hudson gave me his first small hint of a smile.

“Go on. I’m not going anywhere.”

I poured the man’s coffee and then some students from a nearby college arrived. I helped them move tables so that they could sit together for a study group. I kept one eye on Hudson who had pulled out his laptop and appeared to be immersed. Working?

Hudson had my drawing with him. I mused. He’d spent three days at Café Pavilion. Had he been looking for me?

My heart picked up speed at the thought. Why me? He didn’t go for genderqueers. Did he?

Oh sure, maybe he picked one of us up once in a while, a fun one night stand. But would he really hang with a genderqueer like me long term? Every day, every hour living where gender is blurred, elusive, undefined and defying definition.

Had Hudson actually spent that much time trying to find me? I started a brew of fresh grounds and cleaned the counter. The study group was settled in, and it was now a typically slow afternoon. I made my way back over to Hudson’s table.

“When you were at Pavilion, you were looking for me?” I swiped crumbs with a damp cloth. “That’s why you were across the street? You didn’t just happen in here today?”

“This is the only way I had of locating you.” His fingers traced the edge of the portfolio. “A woman at a gallery I visited recognized the location as Café Pavilion.”

I dropped onto the bench across from him, knees finally giving out at this latest surprise. “You looked for me at an art gallery?”

“It’s very fine work. All, nearly all, the gallery owners told me so.”

Nearly all? How many had he talked to? They’d liked my work? I wanted to pursue both avenues of inquiry, wanted to hear, to know everything about how he came to be here but my brain seemed frozen. My shock was apparently visible on my face because he leaned across the table and nudged my mouth closed with a small tap under my chin.

“Why did you leave that morning Tango?”

“You’re rich,” I blurted out, raw truth escaping while my brain’s social filters were offline. “I thought you were just slumming with me that night.”

His hand pulled back and his jaw visibly clenched, working his teeth in a slow grind.

“Is anybody working here?” The question from a woman, looking impatient as she rocked a stroller, carried across the dining room. I shot up from the table, coming back to my surroundings and the fact that I was still at work.

“Be right there,” I called to the woman.

“We need to talk. Privately.”

“I can’t right now,” I addressed Hudson, one of my hands fluttering uselessly.

“The bathrooms,” I amended. “Down the hallway in the back of the store.”

Remarkably, Hudson seemed to understand this disjointed communication because he nodded as I went off to dispatch the lady. Another two customers followed her and it was several minutes before I could get Dale, working in the back of the shop, to cover for me.

I walked down the hallway to the two rest room doors, each housing a single stall toilet. The first door was locked, but the next one opened.

“Lock it,” Hudson commanded as I entered. Any vision I’d had of being caught up in a passionate embrace was obliterated by his stance. He leaned against the sink, arms and legs crossed. I hovered by the door.

“Explain what you meant by that slumming comment.” The words were flinty, putting me on edge.

Explain why you’re here. I begged, but silently. “I heard that you’ve made a lot of money.”

“I have.” He confirmed. Matter-of-fact. Just like that.

“Well, I don’t care about that. Or, I thought I didn’t. That is,” I raked a hand through my hair, frustrated. “I don’t know if I can explain.”

“Keep trying.” The words were clipped, not encouraging and I took a couple shaky breathes. My mouth opened, closed, opened, but I was strangely mute. I couldn’t explain it all – how I’d felt inferior but not in a net worth sort of way. How the physical manifestation of his wealth, the tangible success, had jolted me to action, had encouraged me out of my rut and into seeking my own version of success. It was all there, in my heart if not my head, but all I could do is gape owlishly at him.

Perhaps he took pity on me because he did finally speak.

“I don’t usually want my hook-ups to stick around,” he said. “But I felt differently about you. When we fell asleep, that is, when I fell asleep, we were tangled together. I was warm. Everywhere. Inside and out. Warmer than I’d felt in a very long time. When I awoke it was cold. You were gone. I wanted the warmth back. I wanted you back.”

“I was,” he hesitated, as if considering his words. “I was chagrined to think I hadn’t done enough to make you stay.”

“No!” I shook my head, astounded that he could have felt even a tenth of the self-doubt that had plagued me. “That night was incredible. It was perfect.“

He flashed his little mona lisa smile.

“Yes,” he agreed, straightening and walking slowly toward me. “Perfect.”

“I’ve been uninspired lately, artistically. I’ve always drawn. That’s all I’d planned to do with my life for forever. Then I moved here...I’ve had some pretty big setbacks.”

“Was one of these setbacks a Miss Madeleine Tweed? I gather Axis was the gallery where you were going to have a show?”

Stunned, I nodded as he took that last step to stand in front of me. “She wanted a young preppy artist who was witty and just a little quirky. Someone who could rub elbows with her clientele. I’m pretty much the exact opposite of that sort of artist. But, how did you learn about Tweed and Axis?”

“Later” he said. “You’re getting to the part where I was slumming.”

“Yes, well. I guess I’d gotten to thinking that there would always be setbacks. You know. That there were too many Madeleine Tweeds around. These last weeks haven’t been good ones.”

“Then you came home with me. We had a perfect night and…”

“Well, first there was the book reading, remember? All those success stories. And then I saw your place. You had so much beautiful art. And such a wonderful view. That all costs money and I realized how truly rich you were. Just like my housemates Jenna and Dale had said.”

“Just because I sleep with someone who has less money than me, doesn’t mean I’m slumming.”

I waved off that remark, on a roll now, anxious for him to understand. “It wasn’t the money that made me feel…inferior…it was the fact that you’d tried. You tried and succeeded even when people said nobody would invest in a transguy’s business. You kept at it, despite all the “No’s”. I’d just given up. I was told I was a nobody and promptly went to become a nobody.”

Hudson had moved in closer; once again close enough for me to smell that sharp earth mixed with citrus and a little bit of dark roast coffee. Resting one hand on the door behind me, he leaned into me. “I’d never have thought that of you. Never would think you a nobody.”

“It wasn’t really about you, Hudson.” I rested a hand on his chest, thrilled to feel a tremor go through him. “I left because I finally wanted to prove to myself that I wasn’t a nobody.”

“What about now?” he asked. “And if you tell me that you still think you’re a nobody, I’m going to buy that art gallery right out from Tweed, fire her and get someone in there who will tell you every day how magnificent your art is. Every hour, if necessary.”

I laughed, thinking he had no idea what a narcissist I could be if pushed in that direction.

Hudson leaned closer and pressed his mouth up against my ear.
“I’m serious,” he whispered, then trailed feathery kisses along my jaw. My breath hitched on the laugh, desire flaring.

“I have some plans, now. For a show. It’s just going to be here at the coffee shop, but it’s a start. Dale and Jenna are helping me set up a big opening night.”

“Good,” he smiled, real pleasure crossing his face. “I want to hear all about it.”

His mouth move closer so that his lips brushed my own as he spoke. “Tell me later.”

With that, those lips moved urgently, tenderly against mine, telling a whole story of need and promise. A rightness. Nothing had ever felt as right as this kiss in this moment. Empowered I pulled his hips firmly between my legs, spreading them wide under the kilt and thrusting gently against him.

He slid a hand up my leg, stopping when he encountered the undergarment, thumb tracing over the lacy edge. Damn. I’d forgotten about those. Some of my desire receded, and Hudson must have noticed. He backed off a bit. He didn’t, however, remove his hand from under the kilt.

“I was feeling a bit girlie this morning.”

“I like it.”

“But you don’t like girls. I mean sexually. Everyone says you’re into guys and always have been. Even before transition.”

“Mmm. Well, are you a girl?”

“I,” I paused, flummoxed by the question as I always was. “I wouldn’t describe myself that way.”

“I wouldn’t describe you that way either,” he responded. “And, ‘everyone’ doesn’t know that much about me.”

Pounding on the other side of the door caused us both to jump. Hudson pointed at me, indicating I should respond.

“Just a few minutes.” I hollered to whoever was waiting for one of the bathrooms to free up.

“Can I take you to dinner after your shift tonight?”

He’d had withdrawn his hand from under the kilt and was straightening my clothes.

“No, I have plans,” Dale’s birthday celebration was tonight.

“What about tomorrow?” he asked.

“I’m working,” the sash to my apron knotted and I tugged at it in frustration. “Working the following night too.”

Hudson stepped back; the lack of his body heat creating a small chill.

“Well, maybe some other time.” The smile he gave me was tight and didn’t reach his eyes.

Then I understood, truly understood. Hudson wasn’t some perfect specimen of a transperson - all confidence and success. He had doubts too, and right now he was doubting me. He was unsure of my interest, of my desire for him. I reached out, hooking a finger through a belt loop so that he didn’t back up any farther.

“Tonight, my housemate’s having a birthday party after work. Dale. Will you come? It’s at our house.”

Hudson hesitated and I tugged forcefully, jerking him forward. “I want you to come. Really.”

His eyes heated again, losing that shuttered look. “Just tell me where to find you tonight. I’ll be there.”