Go Your Own Way - 3. Chapter 3

Go Your Own Way

Chapter 3

Over the next few days, I didn’t see much of Kelly; he and his partner were wrapped up in a big project, their first major design job was being installed, and I had a bunch of those errands to do that are necessary after a move. I had to get the utilities switched to my name from the property managers, get the internet installed, stock the pantry, make a trip to my new employer, a commercial construction company, to fill out paperwork...all the fun stuff.

By the end the week, though, I was tired of living with nothing but a mattress set and a card table, so I finally headed to Kelly’s store. It was ironic….I had spent much of the last decade living in less than ideal conditions, but after a week or so of “roughing it” in an apartment with indoor plumbing, climate control, and, after an exhausting couple of days with the local cable company, wifi, I was ready for a nice sanctuary at the end of the day like Kelly’s place. I only had a few days before my new job started, and I wanted to at least get started on the decorating.

My Mom had always been house proud and constantly fussing about the house with decor projects. Cathy had been the same way when we first bought our house. She was constantly asking my opinion about….Nope, I decided. No thinking about Cathy and all our plans. No good could come from that path. I hadn’t really understood this need to nest, but now, all of a sudden, I wanted a nest of my own; not just another temporary shelter.

I knew Kelly’s project had come to an end. We had hung out on the porch last night for a couple of hours talking, and I had realized, with a bit of surprise, how much i had missed hanging out with him. I had come to think of him as friend in a very short time.

In some ways it reminded me of the time I spent with my brother when we were younger, just spending hours goofing off…..doing nothing special, but still having fun. But my brother and I had grown apart long ago, and I hadn’t done that with another guy since then. I had friends over the years, of course, but nobody close.

It didn’t take long to walk to the store, which was housed in a two story double on Carrollton Ave. The upstairs had been converted into apartments, and the downstairs was split between Upcycle and a frame shop/art gallery.

Jingling bells announced my entrance, and a tall African-American man soon appeared to greet me. His waist length dreads and green eyes matched Kelly’s description, so I knew this was Dion, his partner.

“Hello,” he said in a low, smooth voice. “Anything I can help you with?”

“Ummm.” I stammered for a bit. Dion was a bit intimidating. Not in a scary, biker sort of way, but damn….he looked like some sort of model with cheekbones that could cut glass and broad angular shoulders that tapered to a 29” waist. And I’m not into male fashion, but I’m pretty sure the outfit he was wearing cost more than my monthly rent and car payment combined. “I’m looking for Kelly.” His green eyes narrowed slightly and swept me from the top of my buzzed head to the bottom of my Nikes; I have been appraised before, but never more thoroughly and swiftly.

Thankfully, I must have passed muster and he warmed.

“You must be the new neighbor,” he purred. “Kelly said you’d be stopping by. He’s out back working on a refinishing project. I’ll go get him. Look around while I’m gone; I’m sure you’ll find something you like.” He turned with a dancer’s grace, and his lithe figure flowed toward the back of the shop and disappeared.

With Dion gone, I was able to focus on the store. I knew their focus was actually design work, and that the store was more of a showroom/storehouse for their wares than a retail enterprise, but the things on display were for sale.

It was set up like an apartment, with the front room a living area, the next as a dining room, then a bedroom, with an office before the kitchen. I knew from talking to Kelly that both he and Dion, as much as they loved their profession, were upset with the waste and consumerism it encouraged. Therefore, their focus was on using environmentally responsible manufacturers for their new items, while using vintage, reclaimed, and upcycled items as much as possible.

The store reflected this philosophy. In the living area, a new slipcovered sofa whose price made me wince, was filled with pillows made from vintage tees and scarves. Mirrors made from old doors flanked the opening to the dining area, where a lighting fixture made from reclaimed industrial parts hung over a refurbished 60s dining set. I was running my hand appreciatively over the smooth rosewood of the table, when Kelly appeared.

He was flushed from heat, and the paint stained jeans and the thin tee that clung this broad, hard chest to his were dirty, but his smile was warm and bright.

“Hey,” he said. “Great to see you. Want some coffee? Dion is making a fresh pot. Or water? I think we may have some iced tea as well.”

“Coffee will be great.”

“You like that?” he asked nodding to the dining set. I looked down; I hadn’t noticed that I was still absently rubbing the satiny wood.

“Yes,” I said. “I do.” It looked kind of like the stuff I vaguely remembered from the Brady Bunch and Bewitched reruns, but something about its sleek lines called to me.

“It's kind of a coincidence you’d like mid-century stuff, since you kind of look like Don Draper.”

“Who?”

“You know, the guy from Mad Men. He was played by….god, i can't think of him name…...Jon Hamm...that's his name.”

“I know I’ve heard about that show, but I don’t watch much tv.”

“It's about an ad agency in the 1960s. Jon Hamm is the lead. Well, you remind me of him, at least when he has a beard. Here.” He pulled his phone out and swiped through it for a bit before handing it over.

Looking at the handsome actor, I was flattered, and let him know. “Thanks...however, now I’m worried you need glasses or eye surgery.” I instinctively reached up to rub my closely cropped head. “and he’s got a lot more hair than I do.”

“You’re too hard on yourself. Besides...” he reached up and rubbed my head briefly like he had done the other day, and again, I felt an electric jolt, even stronger this time. “.....a lot of people find that shaved head/beard combo really sexy.” He smiled. His hand dropped, and I fought the puzzling urge to grab it to keep it place.

“Anyway, let’s get you some coffee and talk about your place,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind if we do it outside, I’m kind of filthy. There’s a covered cabana with a fan, so it’s not too hot.”

“No problem.”

We stopped in the kitchen to fill mugs before heading out the door into the courtyard shared by the two shops. It was paved, and a freestanding garage stood to the left. The double carriage style doors were open, and I could see that it was set up as a shop. A partially stripped credenza placed on low dollies was in front. This was obviously Kelly’s current project.

The courtyard was surrounded by a fence covered in creeping fig, and huge pots of banana plants and citrus trees were scattered about in pleasing arrangements with pots of shorter plants. A long table with chairs sat under a metal overhang that had been attached to the garage; jasmine vines softened the structure. Other furniture groupings were placed about, all with discrete price tags dangling.

“Wow, this is cool.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s Dion’s baby. His fiance is not into yard and plant maintenance, so they live in a condo. Eric, that’s the fiance, can also be a bit anti-social, so Dion created this as a place to entertain. It works out great….Dion can have his backyard here and throw parties without bothering Eric, and they live close enough he can walk home afterwards. And it’s great for the business, too. Every time there’s a party, we sell some of this stuff. Once, a client bought practically the whole backyard.”

“And this is beautiful,too,” I said going over to the credenza. Getting closer, I noticed it wasn’t just a piece of furniture. It was a hifi with a turntable.

“And it still works, too,” Kelly said. “After I refinish it, I’m planning on having the electronics overhauled, but it’s in great shape considering it’s 45 years old.”

“I want it,” I said. “Can you put it on hold for me?:

“Sure I could do that, but before you start whipping out the checkbook, let’s talk about what you really want your apartment to be like.” And we that, we settled down under the cabana, he pulled out a sketchbook and an ipad, and we planned my new home.

The next couple of months were great; some of the happiest I’d known. I fell into a routine; I’d wake up early and workout, either a run or a trip to the gym I’d found close by, before heading to work. Work itself was going smoothly. The current project was the renovation of 1970s hotel on the edge of the French Quarter; it was an exciting project, and I liked the guys on my team.

After the workday, I spent a lot of time with Kelly. I had quickly learned that decorating my apartment would take a lot longer than I had anticipated, but he was there with me, helping me with the grunt work, like painting the walls and refinishing the executive desk he had found for me at a hotel liquidators.

After talking to him that first time at Upcycle, I had spent some time researching the mid-century aesthetic, including watching Mad Men, and discovered that I really liked the look. Kelly had quickly and wisely determined that I had no need of a typical living room or dining room and had convinced me to to turn the front two rooms into a sort of executive suite.

So with a plan in place, we went to work. We painted all the walls in deep earth tones, which took much longer than I had ever imagined, but doing it with Kelly chattering away and with plenty of beer and the eclectic music of WWOZ playing from my vintage hifi was actually fun. I honestly missed it when the work was finished, though I really did enjoy coming into the soothing colors at the end of a long day, even before all the furniture was in place.

After we finished painting, Kelly showed me how to strip and refinish the desk he found at the liquidators. It was huge, with two banks of drawers and the original brass hardware, but it had been badly abused. When the delivery guys had dropped it off, I thought that there had to be a mistake, but Kelly assured me it would be great with a little elbow grease.

Well, it took a lot of elbow grease, actually, not to mention an exorbitant bill from a jeweler to have the hardware re-plated, but Kelly was right about the finished project. It was beautiful and made taking work home a lot nicer.

Slowy, the apartment came together, and Kelly, not a morning person, voluntarily dragged himself out of bed at sunrise on Saturdays so we could hit yard and estate sells to find authentic mid-century accent pieces. Most trips, except for the fun we had hanging out were busts, but I did manage to snag a brass and glass bar in perfect condition. It was probably 1980s instead of 1960s, but it looked great against the tobacco brown paint in the second room, tucked beside the fireplace and stocked with liquor.

As I settled into my new life, I was more social than I had ever been. I had been a nerd in high school. My popular younger brother had tried to encourage me to go to parties with him, but it had always felt awkward. And in college, my school work had taken most of my time. Then, after graduation, most of free time had been taken up with Cathy who seemed to prefer quiet dates and spending time with my family to partying.

Through Kelly’s insistence and introductions (the guy seemed to know everybody in a 10 block radius), I got to know the neighbors. The neighborhood was close knit, and there constantly seemed to a barbecue, or party, or some other get together happening. I didn’t hit them all, but I went to more than I would have imagined, usually due to Kelly’s urging.

I also spent time at the house of a co-worker, Frank. While I liked Frank, his wife was a different matter. Sheila was nice enough, but the moment she found out I was single, she began a matchmaking mission. I had learned early in my career that a certain amount of socializing with co-workers was necessary for smooth working relationships, so I continued to head to Frank and Sheila's for cook outs and pool parties, but I tried to leave as early as I politely could to avoid Sheila’s latest pick for me.

I also got to know Dion and his partner, Eric. Dion had been a performance major before realizing his real passion was design, so he liked being the center of attention and could be a bit of a diva. But at heart, he was a good guy, and his affection for Kelly was obvious.

Eric, a pastry chef, was a Brooklyn transplant who looked liked a young John Travolta; his milk white skin set off his jet black hair and bright blue eyes. He could be astringent and had a tongue that could peel wallpaper, but he acted like Dion hung the moon and stars, so as long as you were nice to Dion, you were okay. I made sure I was nice to Dion.

Neither Kelly nor Dion really cared about the bar scene; Eric did. However, his work schedule meant he was rarely able to satisfy his taste for going out, so when he was able to head to the Fruit Loop in the Quarter, Dion usually was happy to indulge him, though typically dragging Kelly along, who in turn got in the habit of dragging me along.

I didn’t mind it. Bars weren’t really my thing either, and I had been a bit nervous about going to a gay bar at first. However, after my first visit, I realized they weren’t the dens of iniquity I was expecting. In fact, they were a bit tamer and less raucous than some of the straight bars I had experienced and could be a lot of fun. I definitely didn’t have to worry about women hitting on me, and I found the occasional compliments from guys an ego boost.

One night I accepted an invitation from Kelly, Dion, and Eric to go a drag fundraiser at bar in the Marigny. I hadn’t ever been to a drag show, but I’d watched a couple of episodes of RuPaul’s Drag Race with Kelly and Dion and enjoyed it, so I thought ‘Why not?”

I enjoyed the show and the night in general. The performances and costumes were pretty impressive, and I was feeling good, having had a bit more to drink than usual. We were sitting at a table to the side, and it was an intermission.

I had my arm around Kelly. Earlier, a guy had been hitting on him aggressively, and Dion had insisted I act as Kelly’s fake boyfriend. I guess my buzzed head and beard were intimidating enough; at any rate, after I had put my arm around Kelly, the other guy had taken the hint and backed off, though he still kept looking back over at us. I didn’t mind; it felt nice actually. Kelly was warm and solid against me, and I liked the aroma of sandalwood and lavender that clung to him.

I was sitting there, mellow and zoning, when I heard a female voice speaking to me.

“Joe?”

I disentangled myself from Kelly, and turned around seeking the source. It was Sheila.

“Hey, Sheila,” I said starting to rise.

“Don’t get up. I thought I saw you and wanted to say ‘Hi,’ I’m here to see my friend, Ben, perform.” She pointed to a drag queen in a Lady GaGa costume who noticed her and waved.

“Cool. This is Dion and his fiance, Eric,” I said gesturing to them. “And this is Kelly. Guys, this is Sheila. Her husband works with me.”

There was a chorus of ‘Hellos’ and ‘Nice to meet yous.’ The lights blinked indicating the show was about to begin again.

“Well, I’ll head back to me seat. Good to see you, Joe. And should have said something,” she said with a meaningful look. “I feel so bad, trying to force those women on you. Such a shame; all the good guys are gay. Except for Frank, of course. Bye.” And with a wave, she headed to the other side of the room.

“Oh my god,” Dion and Kelly exclaimed together.

“What?” I said.

“Don’t you get it?” Kelly asked. “She thinks you’re gay. She probably thinks you actually are my boyfriend.”

“He is your boyfriend,” Dion said. “Your official fake boyfriend anyway. And you're doing great at it, darling,” he added patting my hand.

“Wait,” I said. “You really think she thinks I’m gay?”

“Duh,” Dion said.

“This is fantastic,” I said.

“You don’t mind if she goes around telling people you’re gay? What about Frank?” asked Kelly.

“I don’t care if people think I'm gay, and she obviously doesn’t have a problem with gay people. And I know Frank doesn’t give a rat’s ass either; there's a couple of out guys at work, and he's definitely cool with them. And if Sheila thinks I’m gay and have a boyfriend…….this means I can go watch the preseason Saints games at his house on the giant screen without having to fight off the latest chick she’s picked out for me. This is going to make my life so much easier. Come here, fake boyfriend,” I said, grabbing Kelly and blowing raspberries on his neck. I guess I was a little tipsier than I had realized. Kelly tried to push me off, but he was giggling too much to be successful.

“Stop it, you two!” snarled Eric. “I came here to see some drag queens not watch you two work through whatever genderbent, straight boy/gay boy, Will and Grace bullshit you’re dealing with. Now, SHHH!”

After that night, long after other people no longer thought it was funny, Kelly and referred to each other as “Official Fake Boyfriend,” or OFB. Occasionally, we’d even introduce each other that way: “Bob, have you met my Official Fake Boyfriend, Kelly?”

In fact, I was so used to doing it, that I introduced him that way to my mom.

She and Dad had come to visit during the Labor Day weekend. Luckily, Dion and Kelly had given me the heads up about Southern Decadence, so I had planned activities steering clear of the French Quarter as much as possible. Both of my parents are as liberal as a small town Southerner can be, but I didn’t think either were ready for sea of assless chaps and go go boys.

I had told mother about Kelly, and that he was a professional decorator and had worked on my place, but she was even more impressed with the results than she had expected. I had planned to introduce her to Kelly, of course, but I was pleased that she expressed interest in meeting him first.

“This is beautiful,” she said, looking around after I opened the door.

Pretty swanky,” was my father’s opinion. From him, that was impressive.

The refurbished stereo had place of honor in the front room holding matching Murano glass lamps in aqua.. A camel colored leather sleeper sofa, new, but with sleek styling and chrome legs sat across from it. The sofa was accented with a faux fur throw and a mix of pillows from Kelly’s shop. I hadn’t wanted to spend a lot on art, preferring to collect it slowly, so Kelly had used a large printed map of the world in aqua, camel, and cream over the sofa, building a wooden frame and stretching the fabric map over it like a canvas.

The front two rooms were both painted a deep, rich tobacco brown, and the second room was set up like an office. The refurbished desk had pride of place in the middle of the room, with a bookcase behind. Two sleek vintage chairs upholstered in white leather sat before it. They were lightweight enough to be pulled into the front room for extra seating. The vintage bar sat in this room, tucked to one side of the fireplace. Plain curtains in heavy white linen keep the rooms from feeling too dark.

The kitchen, just beyond the office, and the bedroom behind that, were just as polished as the front rooms. But while the whole apartment evoked the mid-century look I liked, it didn’t feel like a stage set. It felt modern and warm and somehow, like me, as well. Or at least like the me I wished I were.

I showed my parents around the apartment, taking their luggage into the bedroom. I planned on giving them the bed and taking the sofabed. Dad excused himself to the bathroom, and I settled Mom down on the sofa with a stiff drink.

“I hope we get to meet your friend who did this,” she said sipping her Manhattan. “”He really did a marvelous job.”

“Of course, In fact, I’ll run get him now. I know he’s heading out with some friends later, so now would be good.”

I headed next door to grab Kelly. He walked in behind me with one of his huge smiles.

“Mom,” I said, gesturing to him. “This is my Official Fake Boyfriend, Kelly. Kelly, this is my mom.”

Her eyebrows raised. “Official Fake Boyfriend?” she asked before chuckling. “Now that is a story I need to hear.”

Kelly’s face had blushed as red as a beet; he ignored the part about being the official fake boyfriend. "Hello, Mrs. Hopper. So nice to meet you. Joseph told me so many nice things about you.”

“I can say the same. And please call me Susan.”

“Okay, Susan.”

“And thank you for making sure he eats something besides take out.” She nodded toward me. “Joe told me how well you cook.”

“It’s no problem. Though sometimes I have to threaten him at gunpoint to get a fresh veggie down his throat.” They laughed. I did not.

I cleared my throat. “You both do realize I’m actually in the same room with you, right?”

“Of course, son.”

By that time, my father had entered the living room, and I introduced Kelly and him. Immediately afterwards, Kelly excused himself, declaring that he was late meeting Dion.

“Who was that? The decorator?” Dad asked.

Before I could say anything, Mom cut in. “Apparently he’s Joe’s official fake boyfriend.”

“You don’t say,” Dad said. “Well, in that case, son, I have two questions.”

I looked at him expectantly. This was not going how I had planned, but then again what ever did? “What are your questions?” I asked.

“Number 1, where’s my drink? And Number 2, what’s for dinner?”