Jim and Chad, Part 2 - 23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

 

"Hey, what's up?" Jeff asks warmly as he flips open and answers the phone.

 

I don't hear any of what Mike says on the other side of the conversation, but Jeff's side quickly gets interesting. "Uh-huh . . . Okay . . . Yeah. . . . Damn, that's not a family, that's just a group of people living together . . . Yeah. . . . Even for you that's not much sleep . . . Do you need me there? . . . Okay . . . So I'll see you Saturday morning? . . . Yeah, I'm bored. . . . Just sitting on the lodge deck having a drink with a friend . . . Male."

 

That's the end of what I hear when Jeff gets up and walks to another part of the deck. While watching him, I soon notice a definite change in the body language. The Jeff that had been easy-going earlier is now standing rigidly straight and talking quietly, but emphatically, into the phone, occasionally clenching his free hand as he makes a point.

 

My watching Jeff is soon interrupted by the waiter bringing the next round of drinks. I see him glance over toward Jeff, then look back at me. "Phone call from the roomie?"

 

"Yeah. But the conversation doesn't seem to be going so smoothly now."

 

The waiter grins and says, "Well, it's always interesting to watch two alpha males try to figure out who's going to be on top." And we both snicker at the thought.

 

While part of my brain briefly visualizes what a naked Jeff and Mike might look like wrestling in bed, another part quickly squashes those thoughts and forces me to continue the conversation with the waiter. "So what's your take on their relationship, bartender?"

 

The waiter laughs at my remark, catching the implied reference to bartenders being their customers' part-time shrink. "Well, Jeff's been coming here about every six months for the last three years. He always seems to be content being by himself, except every now and then he gets this far away look like he's missing something or someone. Just like you've done this evening, after dinner he sits out here and drinks quite a bit before going back to a cabin. That's probably why you two hooked up out here.

 

"Mike came along with Jeff for the first time this past Sunday, so I don't know much about him. As a matter of fact, until this weekend I didn't even know Jeff was gay. I thought he just liked to be alone. But now back to Mike. From what little I've seen, he's on the hyperactive side, always moving around, always on-the-go. He also seems to answer for everything the two of them want, and that seems to tick off Jeff every now and then. But then there are times when Jeff likes being the quiet one, you know, the strong, silent type."

 

"Uh-huh," I respond. Then I think, 'I know more than I care to know about the strong, silent type. He's the type of guy who just left me.' After a few more seconds thinking about that, I finally come back to the conversation. "So what do you think are the odds of them staying together?"

 

After a short pause, the waiter says, "Well, that's something I can't make a guess on. I see people at a single point in time, without seeing what leads up to or what comes after their visit here. So my odds probably aren't too accurate."

 

"Then take a wild guess."

 

After another pause, he says, "Well, okay, 75/25 that they stay together. But that all depends on how quickly Mike recognizes what he has in Jeff. Jeff has lots of patience, and I should know much given the screw-ups we've made on some of his meals over the years. But I can't believe his patience will last forever. So there's a time element involved, and that's what makes this guess so difficult."

 

'Hhhhmmm,' I think to myself. But soon another question pops into my brain. "Okay, for not knowing much about Mike and for keeping up with Jeff over a few years, do you have a degree in psychology or something? You using them for some sort of surreptitious psychology experiment?" I ask with a grin.

 

The waiter grins back at me. "Oh, no, not at all. Of course everyone notices and remembers extraordinarily good looking men like these two: tall, broad-shouldered, strong squarish facial features, intense eyes. Jeff's eyes are green, but Mike's are an everchanging medium-to-light blue, kind of like the skies we get here in the winter after a good snow. Both of these guys are a rarity here, especially since this place seems to be a part-time biker bar as well. But the real reason I've followed them is because it's a part of my training. In this line of business, it always helps to pay attention to what's happening to the customers. Never know when you might be called upon to help one in need."

 

"And your 'training' would be?"

 

"I, actually both my wife and I, majored in Hotel Administration at UNLV, specifically in Lodging and Resort Management. Both of us graduated this past May." He turns the drink tray on edge and rests it on the table. "Been working here part-time for the last four years, kind of like an internship. And we also met each other here."

 

"You're married?" I ask, unable to suppress a hint of surprise in my voice.

 

The waiter chuckles at my reaction. "Yes, my wife is the blond hostess you met when you came in tonight. And I bet you thought I was gay."

 

I blush yet one more time and think, 'Damn, he got me again.' Then I quietly say, "Sorry, but your comments of earlier and your descriptions of the Jeff and Mike had me wondering, especially since they fit so well into the conversation. I guess I should apologize for stereotyping you."

 

"Oh, no need to. Just part of fitting in and getting along with the customers."

 

"Well, you're very good at it. By the way, you also have excellent taste in women. Vicky is one beautiful young lady."

 

"Well, thank you for the first compliment, and I'll be sure to pass along the second one to Vicky."

 

"And please also pass along my apologies to her."

 

"I beg your pardon?"

 

I clear my throat and get ready to admit my previous transgression. With something of a stutter I say, "This evening when I came in, I made a fool of myself. I was overcome by her eyes and . . . I, ummm. . . ."

 

With a chuckle, the waiter says, "You looked her over, right?"

 

"Yeah. Sorry."

 

"Again, no need to apologize. She's quite used to that by now. But just a word of caution. Don't get frisky with her. She's testing for her second-degree black belt next week."

 

"Oh, really?"

 

"Yes. She wants to be able to defend herself against some of the wilder guys that we seem to get up here sometimes."

 

With a chuckle of my own, I say, "That is soooo cool. I bet she'll really surprise some 250 pound drunk guy some evening."

 

"She's already surprised me a couple of times. Unfortunately one time her move broke the bed frame, too."

 

I quickly look over to the waiter's face, see his goofy grin and the gleam in his eyes, then quietly say, "Ooooh, I bet that was fun."

 

"Oooooh, yeeaaaah," is all he says, leaving it to my imagination to dream up what she might do to him. For some reason, the visual image of her flipping him over her shoulder onto the bed then riding him wildly comes to my mind.

 

A few seconds later, I come back to moment and realize that I don't know this guy's name. So I finally say, "I hate to ask this, because it shows how poorly I've paid attention, but what is your name?"

 

"Ryan."

 

"I'll apologize for not looking at your nametag while we were inside, but I was sort of preoccupied. And now it's covered by the coat."

 

With a quiet chuckle, Ryan says, "There's no need to apologize. You'd be surprised at how many people really don't care about their server's name, so I'm used to it."

 

After another short pause, I ask, "So, now that you've both graduated, what are you and Vicky going to do next?"

 

"We've thought about staying here, but we've also discussed moving to other places like Vegas since it's close, L.A., Chicago, and even New York City."

 

At that moment, Jeff returns and interrupts with a comment in a clipped, angry-sounding voice, a voice that didn't fit him or his relaxed demeanor of just a few minutes ago. "Not New York City. Nothing good ever happens there. And I'm beginning to wonder about L.A." Then he plops down in his chair and proceeds to stare out into the canyon, the tenseness on his face showing that his call with Mike had not ended well.

 

I look over at Ryan and he looks back at me, shrugging his shoulders at Jeff's comment. I wink at him and say in a quieter voice, "Thanks for bringing out our next round of drinks. Looks like we're going to need them." And with that Ryan points to Jeff, silently mouths "Good luck" to me and leaves.

 

I give Jeff some time to work through his call with Mike, but when I don't see some change after a couple of minutes, I reach over and gently grab the back of his arm near the elbow and ask, "Everything going to be okay, big guy?"

 

Jeff's face stays rigid and angry-looking. "No," he says abruptly.

 

I almost pull my hand away at the intensity of the response, but decide to leave it there instead. "I'm not sure whether or not this is the case, but some of the worst fights I've ever had with someone else started on the phone. I couldn't see the other person, how tired they were, how much stress they were under, whether or not they were joking, even the last time they ate. But once we physically saw each other and talked about it, the fight just disappeared. Give him some time, Jeff. Sleep on it tonight, let him sleep on it tonight, and see what it all looks like tomorrow."

 

In his still angry voice, Jeff says "But he insulted both of us. He said that I do nothing but bring home strays."

 

I don't know what really possessed me, but it must have been the alcohol. I turn toward the canyon and begin to bark like a dog, a series of long, low "woofs" like what I'd heard from the beloved basset hound I'd grown up with. After the barks, I let out a long howl like the wolves that I'd heard as a teenager on Boy Scout trips into the mountains of eastern New Mexico. And for some reason, the accuracy of the howl amazed even me. When I turn back to Jeff, he's staring intently at me, those green eyes asking me, 'What the fuck?'

 

The response I get turns out to be far greater than I expected. I count at least five dogs up and down the canyon who respond to my bark, but the wolf howl from the top of the other side of the canyon about fifteen seconds later makes the hair on the back of my neck stand straight up. The howl makes me feel uncomfortable, but I can't help but grin at the commotion I've created as it continues for another couple of minutes. And during this whole time, Jeff keeps his eyes locked on mine.

 

When the barking begins to subside, I quietly say, "It won't be the first, nor will it be the last time that I've been called a stray. My Dad was connected with universities, and to get his promotions, we had to move from city to city. We moved five times in four different states until we finally settled in West Texas when I was fourteen. We were there long enough for me to get through most of high school and college. But when I started my career after college, I also had to move from city to city to get my promotions. I've lived in about a dozen different cities and about twice that many houses or apartments since I was born. When I settled in the mid-Atlantic in my early thirties, I thought I'd be able to quit being such a loner, or a stray as Mike would call me. And I did, for a while.

 

"But certain events over the last two-plus years and certainly this past week have continued to show me that I'll always be a stray, I'll always be a loner. Call it fate or destiny, call it whatever you want, but that seems to be my life. It's not one I enjoy, but I'm used to it and I can live with it. So while Mike may be able to go on to be a corporate executive and call himself a 'thoroughbred,' you'll never hear me complain at being called a stray or a mutt. And I bet if you ask anyone else he's called a 'stray', you'd find they aren't too concerned about it either."

 

As he works through his own thoughts, I watch a range of emotions like humor, pain, and sadness, move across Jeff's face over the next minute, his face returning to a tense but expressionless stare between each one. He finally takes a deep breath and sighs, then turns and looks out across the canyon. Soon his face relaxes and he takes another deep breath and sighs.

 

A joke pops in my head, and I begin to find a way to tell it. "So, based on your cell phone settings, you must be a fan of solo cell phone sex, right?"

 

Jeff looks at me, his head cocked to one side with an inquisitive look across his face.

 

"Well, we all know how two people can have phone sex. But with the invention of the cell phone, one person can now have phone sex all by himself or herself, what I call solo cell phone sex." I look over at Jeff, his face still wondering where this is leading to.

 

I have to grin as I say, "Yeah, set your cell phone on vibrate, stick it in your underwear, and call yourself from another phone until you shoot a wad."

 

Slowly but surely a grin starts to cross Jeff's face.

 

Then in a TV commercial voice I add, "And it's not gender specific either, it works equally well for men OR women, depending on whether you turn it flat or on its edge."

 

Soon the sparkle is back in Jeff's eyes. But I instantly know that he's still a little angry at Mike because of the bite in the question he quickly asks. "So, you're an expert at this?"

 

I laugh out loud and say, "Oh hell no. I'd be called old." Then I pause for a second to get Jeff's full attention again. "On me, the batteries run out before I can get off."

 

It takes a half second, but Jeff finally chuckles that deep, relaxed chuckle that I'd instantly liked when I first met him. When I see the sparkle return in his eyes along with the broad grin, I know that the Jeff of earlier had finally returned.

 

A few seconds later Jeff and I start to talk at the same time. The conversation suddenly became an interesting jumble of me saying "So tell me about how you and Mike . . ." at the same time he's asking "You grew up where in West. . . ?"

 

Because I'm a curiously nosy person, I speak again before he can, but I try to speak in a tone that says I'm interested and not just nosy. "Let's save the growing up stuff and family details for later. So tell me about how you and Mike met."

 

Jeff's eyes lose their sparkle and he turns his head to look back out to the canyon, a new seriousness crossing his face. After another ten to fifteen seconds, he tersely says, "Not sure I want to right now."

 

Internally I laugh and say to myself, 'He's clamming up just like every other cowboy I've ever known. But I have alcohol and stupidity on my side.' So I get out of my chair, my head swimming some from the alcohol as I look around. Then I push the chair that I've been using as my makeshift ottoman toward his side of the table, line it up so he can use it as his own, and get another chair to use as my new one. When I've settled back in, I look over at Jeff, point to the chair and tell him, "Put your feet up, make yourself comfortable."

 

Jeff just stares back at me, his mouth curling up slightly at the corners.

 

"What?" I ask.

 

His silence and his eyes answer my question with a question of his own: 'What are you doing?'

 

With a little more emphasis than usual, I say, "When I'm drunk, I get nosy. I'll do anything to get the information I want."

 

Of course, Jeff immediately asks, "Anything?" Over the next ten to twenty seconds, the smile on his face slowly gets bigger and bigger, the sparkle in his eyes saying far more than I care to think about.

 

The implication in his question makes that excitable part of my body in my jeans stir and begin to harden. I find myself begin to get uptight, nervous, and jittery all at the same time. To calm my nerves, I turn away from those eyes, take a deep breath, and look out at the canyon. Knowing I shouldn't do this, I say with a serious voice, "With you and only with you, anything."

 

When Jeff puts his hand gently on my forearm and squeezes, I nearly jump out of my skin from excitement. I know it's from the alcohol, but all I can think of is how I could live under this guy for the rest of my life. I'd never want to top again if I could have this strong, smart, really good-looking guy in my life permanently. Just the thought makes my heart begin to accelerate and "that part" extend to its longest and hardest. I know I have it bad for this guy when all I can think of is dropping my pants and underwear to my ankles, lifting my legs and saying, 'Fuck me, right here, right now.'

 

But in my brain, reality quickly returns: him and me together--it's just not right, well, at least not while Mike's in the picture.

 

"Hey buddy, look at me," Jeff says quietly.

 

With my heart pounding in my ears and my mouth going dry, I hesitate but finally look over at his eyes. His eyes don't sparkle like earlier when he was playful. Instead I see friendly, understanding eyes.

 

After getting lost in those eyes for a couple of seconds, Jeff says quietly and calmly, "I don't know why, but ever since I met you on the trail yesterday, I've wanted to get to know you so much better. There's something shared between us, something that's drawing me to you. I'm not sure I can explain it, but I want you to know it's there, especially since you seem to feel the same way."

 

I look away from him and out to the canyon, then down into my lap, all while Jeff still holds onto my forearm. Although visions of him and me in bed temporarily occupy my brain, they quickly disappear when I figure out what I really have to say. I take a deep breath to try to slow my heart and clear my thoughts, then start. "I'd also like to get to know someone as extraordinly . . . ex-tror-din . . . ex-tra-ord-in-y . . . damn . . . as really good-looking and smart and considerate as you are. But right now we're both damaged, me from a break-up, and you from problems with your partner."

 

Then I look over to Jeff and meet his eyes. "As much as I don't want to say this, we're here to help and comfort each other through our own personal, little crisis, and nothing more. I don't want to put Mike through what I'm going through now. If we did, I'd always feel extremely guilty, and that would cloud any real relationship you and I might ever have."

 

I see a flash of disappointment cross Jeff's face, but that's soon replaced by a look of understanding. With a small smile on his face, he begins to nod his head up and down slowly, acknowledging and agreeing with my statement.

 

I put my hand on top of his, the warmth of him radiating up into the palm of my hand. "I think we can be around each other, and we can be what I'll call 'comfortably close.' We can touch each other occasionally and not feel guilty. But we can't get any closer, because it'll put at least me, if not both of us, in the situation that Robin Williams once joked about."

 

Now a really puzzled look appears on Jeff's face, and he asks, "Huh?"

 

"Yeah, Robin Williams once said, 'The problem is that God gave men a brain and a penis, and only enough blood to run one at a time.'" Jeff laughs loudly at the joke, and the laughter sends a comforting warmth through my entire body and makes me laugh, too. While laughing, I add, "I'm pretty sure he didn't mean for it to apply to us, but what the hell."

 

We continue to laugh another couple of minutes. As the laughter dies down, he nods a couple of times again to agree with what I've said. I nod a couple of times with him, then pat his hand and let go. I'm feeling happy, but for some reason I feel even happier when Jeff gently squeezes my arm and lets go, then starts a long monologue about Mike and him. As much as I'd like to have him hovering above me in bed, it's an incredibly comforting feeling to know that I have him as a friend first. And maybe, just maybe, that'll morph into a much closer friendship....