Lion's Lair - 20. Back on Track

Drive around aimlessly for an hour or so, finally ending up at what’s left of the old Twin Span bridge. Destroyed by Hurricane Katrina, the city took it over, and made what remained a fishing pier. This time of night, it’s pretty much deserted, just minutes before its 10pm closing.

Does he really know me?

Always been a “stand up” kinda guy. Always lived by the rule of “what you see is what you get.” Always thought that I was an easy read, that everyone who knew me saw the “real” me.

Couldn’t Clayton see that?

After learning all about Clayton just a couple of hours ago, the way he filled me in on his history makes me question everything about me. Clayton must have felt I wasn’t trustworthy enough, honest enough, to be open with me far earlier. Guess he felt I had to show more—apparently what he saw wasn’t enough.

But he did say he loved me. And wants me to move in. That counts for something, right?

Then he throws that shit of “Alex handled it. Be logical.” Has he been comparing me to Alex all along? Was that part of his criteria for measuring me?

Unfair—you never let him explain, just blew up and left.

Thoughts interrupted by another call from Clayton. His fourth attempt. Not answering this one, either. Need to figure some of this stuff out first before we talk.

And, the bastard’s rich. No, not just rich, incredibly rich, unbelievably rich. But he doesn’t live that way. Comfortable, yes, but not showy, not obnoxious about it.

He’s never tried to overwhelm you with money, other than the offer to buy out your lease. Never felt like he’s tried to “buy” you, right?

The bouncing ball, tennis court activity in my brain only keeps me further confused, but is interrupted by another phone call. Dave’s name flashes on the car’s infotainment screen. Something’s up—he’d not be calling this late unless there’s a problem.

“Hi, Bubba … everything ok?”

“Hiya, Ryan. Yeah, things are pretty good, why’d you ask?”

“Just didn’t figure you’d be calling this late unless there was a problem.”

“Nope things are good—Bulldog got home this afternoon late, he wasn’t hungry since he had an early lunch at the hospital, and went to bed immediately. He’s got some pain killers in him, so he’s out like a light. But he’s really the reason I’m calling—I need a favor, buddy.”

“Shoot.”

“He’ll probably sleep all night long. At the same time, I really don’t wanna leave him alone—and the cupboards here are bare. I hate to do this, and I know you and Clayton are probably on a dinner date or something, but can I get you and Clayton to swing by and pick up something for me for dinner? I’m about ready to eat the coffee table in the living room; I haven’t had anything since breakfast.”

“Be glad to do it, Bubba. Anything you’re especially in the mood for?”

“I’ll call it in to the Maw Maw’s Diner, just up the road from the house. I’ll put it on my card, and if you’ll just pick it up, I’d really appreciate it.”

“OK, gimme your address, I’ll load it in on the GPS in the car.”

“Sure.”

Load it in, the car maps it out.

“Got it, Bubba. I’m maybe fifteen minutes out. Will the diner still be open?”

“I’ll call ‘em now. They’re normally open ‘til 10pm, but I’ll make sure they wait for you. It won’t be but a few minutes after closing by the time you get there; won’t be a problem. When you turn on the main road coming to our house, the diner will be on your right. The turnoff to our place is a mile and a half or so up that same road.”

“Great. I’ll see you in a few minutes, Bubba.”

“Thanks, Ryan, you’re a life-saver. I’ll see you guys in a few minutes.”

Start the car and head out. The car’s directions were dead on; found the diner, walk in, pick up the food. The lady at the cash register notices my new legs, but says nothing. “You tell Dave and Barry we’re all glad they’re back home, and hope Barry gets to feeling better soon. We miss ‘em. They’re good guys.”

Back in the car, find the mailbox to Bubba and Bulldog’s house. Can’t see it from the road, but pull in anyway. After maybe a half-mile of driving on a downhill gravel road surrounded by dense trees, I see lights up ahead.

Bubba and Bulldog’s house is built on the side of the hill, and a couple of hundred yards ahead, a small river is visible in the moonlight, so they’ve got great views. A big screened porch wraps around the house on three sides; a small “gangplank” deck with railing leads to the house, lit by low-voltage deck lights casting pools of light every six or eight feet. Still plenty dark, though.

A light turns on at the porch. Bubba yells out, “Come on in, Clayton.” In the dark spot where I’ve parked, he can only see someone standing taking the food off the floor of the back seat.

This is gonna be fun.

“Hiya, Bubba …. It’s Ryan. Be right there.”

“What?!” The screen door slams, and Bubba comes racing out, barefoot, in gym shorts, no shirt, and stops at the end of the gangplank.

“Ryan, you’re standing!”

“Yeah, I can walk, too.” I turn and we’re close enough he can see me grinning.

Bubba comes racing across the gravel drive forgetting his bare feet, sweeps me up in a bear hug, and actually picks me up a little off the ground. Spins me around and lets loose an “ooh-rah” that can be heard for at least a mile.

“Shhhh—you’ll wake Bulldog.” I can’t help but grin as I say it, his enthusiasm for my legs brightens me up a little from the funk I was in earlier.

“Oh, man. This is so great, so fuckin’ great! Damn, you caught me off-guard. Don’t worry about Bulldog—a tornado could come through, and he’d sleep through it. And fuck the neighbors; hell, they need to be awake to celebrate this! Come on in, lemme get a look at you.” He grabs one of the bags of food and we head to the house.

“You want something to drink? A beer or iced tea? I’m out of Coke ….” I accept the offer of a beer as he sets the food on a patio table on the screen porch. “Be right back.”

Returning with a beer for me and an empty glass for him, Bubba checks out my legs, which are askew to the side of the table. He quizzes me about ‘em, my therapy for ‘em, and how I’m doing with ‘em. And all the while he’s opening the containers of chicken and dumplings, cornbread, turnip greens, creamed new potatoes, a garden salad, and a square container with a huge scoop of peach cobbler. He washes it all down with milk—they’d sent a half-gallon; apparently Bubba was out of that, too. Later in the conversation: “Where’s Clayton? I hope I didn’t interrupt anything ….”

“He’s at home. We’d gotten together earlier for dinner.” Sigh. “We had a fight.”

“Aw, I’m sorry, Ryan. If you want to talk about it, I’m a damn good listener, but understand I’m not qualified for advice.” A good-natured smile follows his statement, and I realize I’m comfortable in talking about it with him.

He’s a good guy I already trust. Maybe talking it through will help. Just can’t give away Clayton’s secret identity or his money—that’s his story to tell.

Babbling on for a few minutes giving some details, finally finish up with, “Well, the bottom line to all of it is that Clayton told me some things about himself—and it’s made me question how much I really know him. And because he held off so long in telling me that shit, makes me wonder how much he knows me, and how much he really trusts me. And at one point he even compared me to his late lover, Alex, saying we were both just alike--independent and self-made men. We started out talking normally but by the time it ended, I blew up, Clayton tried to respond, and … well, it all just fell apart, and I walked out.”

“Ok ….” Bubba sits quietly for a moment, has a big spoon of peach cobbler followed by another slug of milk. “This isn’t advice, but just observations, ok? And you don’t owe me any answers, but you do owe ‘em to yourself. First, do you love him?”

Easy enough. “Yeah, I do. Or I did—the Clayton I knew before, I did. Now, well … all this has me questioning everything.”

Bubba grins at me. “I’ll take that ‘yes’. Does he love you?”

“Yeah.”

Another smile. “That’s a good thing, then. There’s an old song that says ‘sometimes love just isn’t enough’, and although that may be true, having love is a great starting point. Now, did anything he tell you change the way you see his basic character?”

That’s tougher. Even though Clayton hid his real name and history, he really is the same guy he was. He’s always been honest, direct but not brutal, and a solid guy. He’s still Clayton, not some weird alter-ego, whether I know his past or not. His having a separate identity because of his money … well, I guess I can understand that, especially because of the amount of his fortune.

“Hafta say no, Bubba. He’s still the same guy, I guess.”

“Good. I’ll tell ya what a drag queen said years ago when someone in the group asked if it wasn’t a little schizoid to do drag on weekends and live the rest of the week as a typical male. His response stuck with me: “It’s just another facet of the diamond that I am.” It sounds strange, but it’s totally true. We all present different sides of our lives to fit the circumstances. The way you act with your commanding officer isn’t the same way you act with your buddies when you’re out drinking on Saturday night, is it? In either case, you’ve tailored what you’ve presented, but the basic you is still the same. So perhaps you’ve seen the real Clayton all along, just a different facet of his personality.”

Bubba’s right; Clayton’s still the guy I met and fell in love with.

“Now, here’s an angle to think about, Ryan: the whole thing of trust, and the timing of when he told you all of this stuff. Maybe he does trust ya, maybe he’s always trusted you, but maybe he thought you weren’t ready for the full story—whatever that is. Or maybe he wasn’t ready to tell ya all of that. Regardless, I’m a great believer in the idea of ‘when it’s right, it’s right’. And he obviously got the idea that now was the time to give you this information. So he obviously does trust you; it was all a matter of timing.

“Lemme ask you something, and it may help put things in perspective. Knowing what you know now, would you still have made the call to date Clayton? Would you have allowed yourself to fall in love with him?”

What a question! I’d have never thought about that.

And he’s right about a change of approach letting me see things differently. What if I had known his full story when we first met? Would I have even gone out with him? Or would I have viewed him as someone out of my league? After all, I don’t have that kind of breeding, and certainly nothing anywhere near his family’s wealth. Hell, forget the family inheritance or what he got from Alex’s estate, what he’s made on his own puts him in a totally separate class from me. So maybe it’s a good thing he didn’t tell me up front—I’d have missed out.

Guess I was lost in my thoughts, but when I finally zoom back in to the present, Bubba’s looking at me, a somewhat bemused expression with twinkling eyes. “So now that I’ve made ya re-think everything, lemme throw something else out there.” At least he didn’t wait for me to answer his last question of “If you knew everything then that you know now, would you still fall in love with Clayton?” He’s pushing ahead—his Marine training to charge forward is still in place.

“And if ya think about it a little further, if he did any comparison of you with Alex—and I really can’t see him doing that in the way you’re thinking—it was probably the ultimate compliment he could give you. After all, that was a man he loved, and lived with for twenty-plus years. So he’s really in a way saying you’ve got the same qualities, the same drive that he already knows he loves. And you’re only that much more loveable because of it.”

I’m still thinking, and Bubba’s not saying anything as he grabs another spoonful of peach cobbler. He’s already finished up that spread of food—the man can eat. And he was hungry.

Damn, Bubba’s good at this shit.

There’s a brief lull in the conversation, Bubba polishes off the peach cobbler with another slug of milk, and then yawns. It’s been a long day—hell, a long week for him at the hospital with Bulldog.

Has it only been a week since all that mess at the bar happened?

“Well, Bubba, I need to go, and you need to get some sleep in your own bed. I know you’re tired. You need anything before I head out?”

“Nah, I’m good. Just think through things with Clayton, ok?”

“Yeah, I’m doing that. You’ve already helped a lot—appreciate your being a friendly ear, and your comments. We’re gonna be fine. Just one question: how’d you get to be so good at this? Always been that way for you?”

“Shit, no. Used to be a hothead when I was in service, but my job helped calm me down. But the best thing was getting to know Bulldog—he’s the best negotiator I’ve ever seen. He’s able to look at a situation from all sorts of angles, find the good stuff there, then feed it back, so when it’s all said and done everyone walks away feeling good. Feeling like their side has been heard, and that they won at least some of the points they were trying to make.”

We’re walking out to the car, Bubba with his arm thrown over my shoulders. “Look, Ryan, don’t beat yourself up over any of this. Sure you may have gotten pissed or hurt or whatever, but just let it go. And it takes two to tango—I’m sure if you talk with Clayton, he’s not gonna be happy with the way things went down, either. Just go back to your man, do what you need to do, then move on down the road. No recriminations, no guilt, it’s all just a learning experience that’ll make you both better, ok?”

He’s absolutely right, of course. And I know what I need to do with Clayton.

“Just don’t forget about the bar’s grand opening on Saturday night. Bulldog wants you there—he’s made some changes, and you’re a part of the place, so promise me that you and Clayton will be there.”

“Promise. And, … thanks. You’ve really helped me get my head screwed on straight, Bubba.” I swiveled a bit, and hugged that big-ass hairy chest. Damn the guy’s big, and he definitely knows how to hug. “Your advice really helped.”

Bubba just laughs. “Hell, all I did was listen and ask a few questions. You did all the work there—you’re a sharp guy, just needed to back away and think it all through.”

“Well, thanks again—and if you or Bulldog need something, call, buddy. I owe ya.”

“Nah—it’s all a part of being friends; we don’t track this shit, just goes with the territory.”

I lean up, kiss his neck and give him another hug. “Ok, I’m outta here. You get some sleep.” I nodded toward the house. “Tell Bulldog we’re all glad he’s home, and we’re looking forward to seeing what he’s done with the place on Saturday night.”

Bubba waves goodbye as I turn the car around and head down his drive. When I reach the blacktop, I call Clayton using my cell phone paired with the car’s Bluetooth system. Yeah, it’s almost midnight, but I need to get this done.

The phone rings just once, and Clayton’s on the line. “Ryan, are you ok?” His obvious concern comes through loud and clear.

“Yeah, Clayton, I’m fine. Better than fine, actually—I think I’ve got my shit together … finally. I was a real asswipe on everything and I’m sorry. Can I come over and talk?”

“Of course—come on home. We’ll talk. And I’m sorry, too—I was an idiot on all of this. But get your ass here; we’ll talk it through.”

“Great. I’ll see ya in a few minutes.”

Pull into the garage at Clayton’s, grab the wheelchair out of the trunk, and head in. Clayton’s sitting on the sofa in the living room, got a drink poured for him, offers me one, and brings me a beer. Take off the legs while sitting on the sofa next to him—my nubs and ass are stiff and sore. Guess I’ve overdone it with the walking tonight; I’m gonna feel it tomorrow.

Talk with Clayton until 3am. Apologize for blowing up—and he apologized to me. He tried to take responsibility for it all; he was so eager to share with me, to open up to me, that he’d dumped everything on me at once. Claimed that it was easier when he’d opened up with Alex before, since he’d more or less spoon-fed him the information about his secret identity over a short period of time instead of doing it all at once. Swore he’d never compared me to Alex, just identified common characteristics. And, although he was rich, the numbers weren’t as intimidatingly big when he was with Alex, and he’d not had his own personal success that added to it.

Told him I overreacted. I’d been raised to believe all a man had was his name and his word, and to be a success you can’t rely on others; you have to make your own success. It’d served me well growing up, served me well in the military, and now serves me well as I work to rebuild my life. Told him the money didn’t matter—we’d make it as a couple, regardless.

Told him, too, about my conversation with Bubba, how he helped me think things through even though he didn’t know the specifics of what we’d argued about. Clayton laughed when I told him he needed to think about coming out with his story with trusted friends like Bulldog, Bubba, Joe, and Rex. “It’s just a different kind of coming out, Clayton … and you know you can trust those guys.” He promised he’d think about it.

Told him again I love him. He told me he loves me, too, and repeated the offer to pay for me to move in—it’s something he wants, the money isn’t an issue. I’m ready for this next step with him, I said yes. I’ll check with my leasing office on Monday to finalize what it’ll take to get out of the rest of my lease.

Stripped down, curled up together in bed. We’re both exhausted emotionally, and I’m wiped out physically. Slept hard, huddled against the man I love—and who loves me.

Yeah, we’re back on track.