Landfall - 26. The Mojo is Back

Slept like shit last night—remarkable how quickly I've become addicted to sleeping with Bubba beside me. First time we've been apart since all this started ... what, almost 4 months ago?

Woke up early, maybe 6am or so. Made coffee, had a smoke on the balcony, mentally planned out the day, and thought about lots of things.

Biggest issue is feeling I've lost my “edge”. Notice it comes back when I'm not doing the mood-management drugs Doc had prescribed almost two months ago. It's like I'm outwardly calm, but the emotions are all bubbling, ready to erupt—generally at times that totally catch me off guard

Like when Dave and I talked about the house, and about Chuck. First sobbing like a little kid. Sure, felt really badly about not considering Bubba's feelings on the house, and trying to take things on myself. Yeah, I'd been selfish about doing things on my own without including him, and guess I learned to do things on my own after Jackie and I drifted apart more and more in the marriage. But sobbing? Not appropriate behavior.

And Chuck making the pass at Dave? Understand completely—Bubba's a good-looking sonofabitch; can see how anyone would be attracted. And trust Bubba completely. But getting that angry and jealous? Hell, was ready to go track Chuck down and beat the shit out of him right then. All I saw was red. Definitely not my style—and it caught me completely by surprise.

Haven't taken the drugs this morning, and really feel great. Not gonna take 'em till after I talk with Doc.

After Doc, gonna give Sid a call. Really want to find out about how financing will be handled on our house. The Bureau's gotta have something set up, just a matter of getting the details.

Got a couple of emails from Rex of potential properties. He'd set both me and Dave on “auto-notify”; when new properties come up on the market, his system automatically shoots me an email, with pictures. Some nice properties out there, but still thinking about that “treehouse” on the river. It was different, had lots of things I liked, and Bubba was fuckin' in love with it. Yeah, I could live there, just need to talk with Dave to find out what he thinks.

Going to the bar later today. We're dark on Mondays, but can use the quiet time to go over the books, think about things to grow the business. Also need to talk with the accountant, find out when to transmit the data to keep the books up to date.

Growling stomach forces me to get cleaned up and head out for breakfast. Remember passing a little '50's-style diner, so went there. Great breakfast, satisfying coffee; gotta remember to bring Dave back here. He'll love it.

Drive to the bar, to start the morning of phone calls, discover two cars there, one parked off to one side, the other pulled around near the back office entrance. Left-overs from last night? Pulled my car into the back to get into the office's separate entrance, there's movement in the car barely visible through the heavily tinted glass; walk over and knock on its tinted driver's window. A man rolls down the window, breathing heavily. Hard wet cock sticking out of his pants. Woman in the other seat, looking away, smoothing her blouse.

“Sorry, guy, just checking, making sure everything's ok here.”

“Yeah, uh....we're fine.” He stutters, turns beet red, continuing to try to catch his breath, even as his dick wilts.

“Ok, no problem, just making sure. Gonna be inside working, didn't wanna surprise ya or block your car in. Enjoy yourself!” I'm grinning; funny to catch him like that.

Found out later this guy has been coming here with his girlfriend for years to hide out from his wife--he'd knocked and come inside to apologize after his girlfriend left. Seems the bar is a great place for married guys to bring their girlfriends, or boyfriends—kinda the same logic they'd used to hide me in Key West; who'd look for a straight guy at a gay bar? Especially during the day, when the bar is closed?

Got my day organized, then called Doc. It's only 8:45 am, so maybe I'll catch him before he gets rolling for the day.

Call his office, and he picks up on the first ring.

“Doc, it's Barry Evans. Wanted to check in. You got a few minutes to chat?”

“Yes, I'm actually clear of appointments this morning—it's a paperwork day. How are things going?” We chat for a few minutes catching him up on my and Dave's life, fill him in on what I'm thinking, how I wanna stop the drugs and why.

“I'm not opposed to discontinuing the drugs if you don't need them. They're not designed for long-term use anyway. They're really just a stop-gap measure to help you work past the bigger issues. So let's talk about those issues. But before we do, one question: What does Dave think about you stopping the prescriptions?”

“Haven't talked it over with him, Doc. It's just been an awareness I've built over the last couple of weeks. Do I need to talk with him? Are you telling me I need his permission?” I'm starting to get angry. It's not his decision!

“No, no, Barry. You don't need his permission at all. Therapy affects the whole family; your health affects him, and he needs to be aware of what you're doing.”

I calm down after his explanation. Makes sense.

“Ok, I'll talk with him when he gets back from Dallas. He should be back tomorrow.”

“Great. I can see what you mean about the emotions—you were getting angry over that. Most people wouldn't. And, while we're weaning you off the scripts, here's the name of a doctor I've worked with in your area. Promise you'll call him and set up a regular schedule with him. You're going to need to talk as you get off the drugs, and he's a great resource for you. Now, Barry, let's talk about everything going on with you in detail.”

After jotting down the name and number of the doctor he recommended (who works 15 minutes away on the other side of the parish), talked over everything with Doc. Covered everything from dealing with Jackie's death, to how things were going with Dave and me, to losing my boys, to the new job/new town. Took over an hour and a half. And it was worth it. Felt good about my life. Realizing I'm doing great; guess now having goals and things to do is really good therapy for me.

“Ok, Barry, you've convinced me. Go ahead and cut back on your drugs. Do only one a day instead of the two. Do that for a week, then cut that daily dose to one every other day. Do that for a week. Then just quit.”

“You mean the three-a-day schedule, right, Doc? That's what I'd been doing.”

“Wait, what? You're only supposed to be doing two-a-day, Barry. Why'd you do three? And how long have you been doing that schedule?”

“Dave got the script filled when we were in Florida, maybe six weeks ago. That's what the bottle had on it, so I took it, only noticed how much better I felt if I accidentally missed a dose. Figured you'd upped it after getting me started on the two-a-day for the first week or so that'd you'd initially provided me.”

“No, no, no. Must have a screw-up at the pharmacy. No wonder you've not been yourself—you've been over-medicated! Damn. Just go ahead with cutting back to that one-a day-schedule that I'd talked about, you'll do fine, ok?

“Great, Doc, thanks! Well, buddy, I need to get back to work—thanks for the phone therapy.”

“Anytime, Barry. Don't work too hard today—and be sure to talk all this over with Dave.” We both say goodbye, and end the call.

Yes! Life can get back to normal.

Not just blow jobs in the secluded parking lot going on. Looked over into the woods on the parking lot's side as I grabbed a smoke between phone calls. Plenty of discarded rubbers there, so obviously the woods were useful, too.

After my break, came back in, and it was almost 11:00 am. It'd be noon in DC, and Sid would probably be already gone to lunch. Will call him later today.

Called the Bureau's accountant they'd assigned, and left a voice mail for him to let me know when he was ready for the bar's accounting data, and how I needed to get it to him. He called back almost immediately, gave me his info, and I got everything fed to him by email before heading out to lunch.

Got everything scanned and emailed out when my phone rang. It's Rex. “Hey, Barry, what's going on?”

“Just getting a little work done. Got your email about the houses, and they look nice, but I'm still thinking about the treehouse you'd shown us Saturday. But, I'm open to keep looking; besides, Dave's in Dallas and we haven't had a chance to talk.”

“Great! I'll leave you on auto-notify, you'll still continue to get properties from me. Ya never know when just the right one will pop up. But, really didn't call to talk real estate; I've had clients cancel their 1:00pm appointment, so I've got time for lunch. Thought I'd take ya out, get to know you a little. I prefer my business to be done with friends, not just clients. Are you up for lunch?”

Rex's invitation is nice, just need to be careful what I tell him. I like him, I trust him, but still ….

“Sure. I'm done here. Where and when?”

“Do you know where the train station is? On Main Street? There's a bar and grill on the side of it. It's got a pretty broad menu, and some of the best burgers in town. How about meeting there in thirty minutes? That'll get us in during the lunch crowd, but they serve fast at this place, and I don't wanna slow you down from your afternoon plans.”

“Great, Rex. I'll see you in thirty minutes. Thanks!”

Finish getting the desk sorted and items put away and lock up to leave the bar. There's another car parked just past mine, underneath the oak on the property line. I can see movement, but don't walk up to it. The damn place is a fucking hookup site—for straights. Funny.

Get to the place in plenty of time, standing outside “Leon's Bar and Grill” having a smoke. Across the street is “Betty C's”, a home-cooking restaurant, based on the signs. Next to it is an antique store, then “Main Street Bar”.

Rex pulls up a few minutes ahead of schedule, joins me for a smoke. We make small talk, go inside, scan the menus, then order—both of us getting burgers and fries with a local beer.

“Thanks for the lunch invitation, Rex. Really don't know anyone here in town, and I'm kinda at loose ends today. I appreciate it.”

“You bet—we've not had a chance to get to know each other, and, truth be told, this place isn't far from our house, so I was able to check on Mrs. Sheldon, our housekeeper. She's 70, and her arthritis flared up yesterday, so wanted to make sure she's doing better today. She was moving slowly this morning and she'll have the kids all day.” Rex sips his beer, leans back and relaxes in the chair.

“You've got a housekeeper? Knew you had kids; sounds like a great setup—and a big household! How many kids, Rex?”

“It is, Barry. Got two boys and a girl, and a neighbor's kid that you'd think we'd adopted.” He's chuckling. “Actually, we have adopted the two boys and the girl. They're the great-nephews and niece of my little Yankee, came part and parcel with him, and I love 'em just like they were mine. Great kids.”

Hmm … unusual situation.

Must've spoken that out loud, Rex is nodding. “Yeah, it is an unusual situation. The 'Reader's Digest” version of the story is that Joe was straight when we met—or so he thought. In fact, we met at the Main Street Bar across the street. After we'd gotten together, his nephew and the father of the kids—who he was living with—freaked out. And even though Joe was taking far better care of the kids than their own dad, the nephew stayed drunk and during one of the drunken spells tried to kill Joe by running him down--all because we were together. Joe recovered—thank God—and the little Yankee and I ended up with the kids. When we bought the house, we moved Joe's next door neighbor into the guest house to help take care of the kids when we're both working. It's worked out well.”

Had a chug of beer, and it crossed my mind, Who's “my little Yankee”?

Rex just smiled at me. “And my little Yankee is Joe. Kinda a pet nickname for him, since he's originally from upper Michigan.

Wait a minute—I couldn't have said that out loud; my mouth was full of beer.

Rex looks at me, gears turning in his head, then shrugs his shoulders and laughs. “Yeah, you were enjoying your beer. It's no big deal. You remember, Joe told you I had 'spidey sense'? Well, sometimes it's on, some times it's off. Right now it's on. I generally get a feeling or a momentary flash of insight; other times—like now—it's stronger. It comes and goes. It's not like I'm a mind-reader or anything; more like I'm feeling what you're thinking. Yeah, I guess I'm something of a freak.” He's still smiling as our burgers and fries arrive.

Shit, I've gotta be careful … what if he finds out about ….

Rex raises his hands in a “stop” motion. “Whoa there, Barry. First of all, I'm not 'probing' or pumping you for info in any way. What you choose to tell me is up to you. Hell, we've all had storms in life to deal with. If—and it's a big “if”--I somehow manage to pick up on something, it stays strictly with me. I keep my mouth shut. Trust me, if I ever let go of everything I've learned about folks in this town, the whole area would be buried under four feet of shit.” He smiles at his own small joke. “Your secrets are your own unless you choose to tell them; I'm not called 'Father Rex' for nothing.”

“And secondly, remember when I told you when we first met that we were gonna become great friends? Well, I think we share some of the same intuitive skills—I can feel that in you. Mine weren't that much until I met Joe; guess the strength of the emotions he stirred up in me kinda pushed me to the next level, and I'm sensing some of that same thing with you. I think that's gonna be the thing that cements our friendship as much as anything else we do.”

What the hell can I say to that?

“Ok, ok, stop looking at me like I'm a three-headed alien—finish your burger before it gets cold. We can talk more after lunch.” Rex is still smiling and chuckling, as though unaware of how weird all this sounds.

And yet, always had gut-level instincts about people and circumstances. They've served me well. Maybe Rex's insights aren't as strange as they sound.

The rest of the lunch is pretty much quiet, occasional small talk about our businesses along with friendly glances between the two of us. Rex picks up the tab, we head outside for another smoke before we go separate ways.

“Look, Barry, I know this is a lot to take in; I really hadn't planned on talking about any of this, but as we shook hands when I got here, it was just something that I knew needed to happen. I really don't think I've fucked up what could be a great friendship, but, if I can't be honest, well, I don't think you'd want me as a friend. And, please, don't say anything about this conversation to anyone at the bar … I get enough kidding about it now, and really don't want anyone to know this much detail about me. I'm trusting you to keep all this between us.”

“I'd be lying, Rex, if I didn't say I was a little freaked out by all of this, but probably not for the reasons you're thinking. I just haven't recognized any of this in me before, but admittedly haven't really spent any time thinking about it. I just do—move forward, get the job done. And yet, what you're saying does have a ring of truth to it. Yeah, I'm a little off-balance, but I'll live. And, I'm not saying a word about this conversation to anyone; well, no one other than Dave. He deserves to know what going on with all this.”

“He gonna be ok with it? He strikes me as a good, thoughtful man.”

“Yeah, I think so, Rex. And yeah, he is a good man—the best I've ever known. He'll be fine.”

With that, shook hands to say goodbye. Just like I'd shuffled across a carpet—got a small shock, with my hand and arm tingling. Confirmation of the bond between Rex and me? Hell, who knows?

Back to the bar to finish up my calls to Sid, maybe review delivery schedules to the bar, plus look around to start thinking about potential changes/improvements to the place, if any. Another car, this one empty, parked over under the oak tree along the property line during the late lunch hour. The place is more of a hookup spot than I'd thought—guess the car's occupants are in the woods during this late lunch hour.

Since it's now 1:15pm, go ahead and call Sid. His secretary patches me through to him quickly, almost like I'm a priority call.

“Barry, it's great to hear from you! How are you liking the new location?”

“Sid, good to talk with you, too. The new place is going fine. In fact, that's the reason I'm calling—Dave and I are talking about buying a place, and I'm concerned about how to handle it. I know they're going to ask for a couple of years of tax records, and obviously I don't have that. Combined with the cash reserves I've got, a loan application will raise a lot of questions that I don't wanna have to answer. Dave knows my circumstances are not the typical guy's in your program, so I need some direction.”

“Easy enough, Barry. We work with a nationwide lender—one of those you see advertising on TV with their 800 numbers. They'll work with you, ask minimal questions, and make the loan quickly. But, from this point forward, you'll be on your own financially, since this will let you build past the 2 years of tax information they'd normally want. I'll have someone call you with the contact information you'll need to use to get started.

“So you've found a place? I'd love to hear about it.” Sid is genuinely interested; told him about the tree house, but also that we'd not finalized the choice yet and were still looking. Just doing the loan prep early, so when we found the right place—if it's not the tree house—we'd be able to move quickly. Sid understood the logic.

“Good that you're getting ahead of the process, Barry. And, by the way, you seem to be doing a good job at the bar; I saw Dave's report, and you've already provided some very useful information to us.”

Hmmm....Didn't realize Dave was including that in reports. But makes sense.

“So how are things with you, Sid? Job going ok? Everything good there?”

Sid fills me in on things with him. His boy is good, job is typical paperwork—at least according to him—and he's doing fine. He'd taken off a few days for the 4^th of July holiday, did some fishing somewhere on Chesapeake Bay, apparently a place he enjoys on his time off.

“Well, Barry, I need to get back to work. I'm glad you called and glad you called now. I was out the office at the doctor's this morning, so your timing was perfect.”

“Yeah, it's great to talk with you, too, Sid. Everything ok with the doc's visit?”

“Just a standard checkup, Barry. Nothing big.” As soon as Sid said the words, my right hand's fingertips on the phone started tingling, just like they had when I shook hands with Rex.

He's lying about something—I can feel it.

“Great, Sid. Well, I need to get to work here. Good talking with you—and don't wait on a phone call from me; feel free to call anytime. Always a pleasure to chat with you! We'll talk more later, I'm sure. Goodbye, Sid.” And the call ends.

Something's going on with Sid, but he'd tried to cover it. Guess he'll talk about it when he's ready.

Twenty minutes later, get a call from the lender. Review my information with him, give him the financials I have along with my personal information, like the new social security number, phone numbers, address, etc. Twenty minutes later I get a faxed pre-approval letter from them I can pass to Rex, along with a separate note from the loan officer saying to give him a call for a final approval letter once we settle on a place.

Nice to get that done.

Walking around for a smoke on the patio, decide we need to do a Labor Day cookout at the bar. Cookouts are traditional on that holiday, right? Other than bar decorations, there was nothing special at the bar for the 4^th of July. Bryant can fill me in on if that's been done before—probably so—but we've got a little time to pull it together. I'll do the burgers on the bar's gas grill; Randy, the other bartender, can serve; Bryant can work the bar.

Also be a good spot for Dave's birthday in mid-August. Doubt we'll be in our own place in time for that. Hopefully, we'll have started building a good network of friends by then, and Dave can have his coworkers in, too.

Clean off the desk, shut down the computer, head back to the hotel. A quick shower, pull on a pair of shorts, and start playing on the internet. Ran across a site, GayAuthors.org. I'd seen the site in Florida with Bubba, but really didn't explore it. Plenty of interesting stories there, haven't made the luxury of lots of time for reading, and with nothing scheduled for tonight it'll be a reward I give myself.

Find a chapter that's just been released in a story called “Barbed Wire Heart”, by a guy named Cole Matthews. (Most authors apparently release the stories chapter by chapter.) Started reading the current chapter—it's a murder/mystery/adventure story line—and realize it's not something to pick up in the middle of the story, so go back to the beginning. Damn fine writing sucks me in and before I know it, I'm up to date on it. But, it's 7:30pm, and I'm hungry.

Had a pre-made pizza crust I'd picked up, so started assembling a homemade pizza using stuff in the pantry. Smeared some bottled Alfredo sauce on it, dumped on some canned cooked chicken pieces, bacon bits, minced up part of a green pepper, chopped up a couple of mushrooms and put that on it. Found a can of pineapple tidbits, then added Parmesan cheese, threw it in the oven to bake for a few minutes. Pretty damn good “white pizza” for just thrown-together shit. Either that, or hungrier than I thought. A cold beer works well with it.

Went back to reading, found a story by CraftingMom. Tough story about an abused kid—mostly by his own dad—who's gay, and manages through circumstances carefully set up by the writer to come out in pretty much good shape, thanks to his buddy/love interest. Well done tale, but an emotional read—yeah there are bastards like his dad out there.

“Summer” by Carlos Hazday is another story in progress. A gay kid is emotionally abused by his step-dad, and ignored by his mom, pretty much independent elsewhere, except for a younger brother he's close to. He moves—and blossoms—under the care of his dad and dad's partner in DC. More first-rate writing. It's a story in progress, too. Hafta be back here regularly to keep up on the story line.

Despite the incredibly well-done work of all three writers, the last two stories made me think about Trey. He was the stud football player all the way through high school, so can't see him getting picked on by anyone. But what demons did he wrestle before he came out to Jackie and me between junior and senior year? What'd he deal with that I never even thought through? Or never got to help him with? Yeah, I'm a little down.

Grabbed another beer from the fridge, came back to my reading. I'm a fast reader, but only have time for maybe one more story. “Cards on the Table” by Headstall tells of two professional guys in their mid-20's, been friends for years, but manage to fall in love despite some obstacles. It's a finely-crafted “feel good” story. Nice way to wrap up the evening; well, at least as far as I got on it. It's a work in progress, too. Guess I'll hafta make an account, and come back regularly—too much good reading on the site. This has been a good break for me.

Sign out, take my now once-daily med, wash it down with what's left of the beer, strip, crawl in bed. Reaching for the light, my phone beeps with a new text message. From Dave:

Just checking in. Thinking of

you. How was your day,

Bulldog?

Good day here,

Bubba. Productive. An interesting lunch

hour with Rex.

Missing you.

Look forward to

hearing about lunch.

Talk about me?

Miss you, too. Be

home late tomorrow

afternoon. Love you

Only talked about you

all the time!

Can't wait. Drive

safely. I love you too.

Yeah, it's been a good day. Got my mojo back.