GWM - 17. Chapter 17 of 18

Mike

Harry nearly didn’t answer Mike’s ad. The ad was interesting, but ambiguous. It mentioned relationships, not age, which usually meant the guy was fifty. Often the voice mail offered more, but this one was as guarded.
“I’m thirty-four,” Harry said in response. “Fairly good-looking. Confident. I’m an architect. If you’re near my age and interested, please call.”
Then Harry forgot to leave his phone number and had to call back.
“Hard to admit I said, ‘confident’ he added.”
Mike called mid-Sunday afternoon. Harry had slept late, then made family phone calls. He was reading the Times when the phone rang.
“I’m thirty-seven-and-a-half,” was the first thing Harry heard, and it made him laugh. “Is that too old?”
“I came on a bit strong,” Harry acknowledged.
“Then forgot to leave your number.”
“Which I quickly fixed. Though I didn’t tell you much about me.”
“The ad didn’t tell you much about me. And it wasn’t my idea -- I never would’ve run one. It was placed by a couple of lesbian friends, trying to do a good deed. They decided I was lonely.”
“Are you?”
Mike laughed, then filled Harry in on some details. Harry did the same.
Mike was taller, a bit heavier, dark-haired, athletic, and a doctor. He’d married young, divorced, then had fallen in love with another guy.
“We were together eight years. By then, I was in med. school. He regarded me as a meal-ticket -- once actually said so in a fight. I always knew it was a terrible relationship, but I really loved the guy.”
“That why you stayed?” Harry asked.
“Yeah, I kept trying to make him love me. I know how stupid that sounds, but I thought it could work.”
“Never has for me.”
“Tricky all around.”
They talked for several hours, often about more ordinary things. After college, between his divorce and med school, Mike had studied to be a priest. “Not in some suburb. Not where I was raised. I worked in Nicaragua, in a tiny, farming community.”
“Did you know Spanish?”
“I picked it up pretty quickly. I’d studied French.”
“I can read technical drawings,” Harry joked. “That’s a second language.”
Mike laughed. “Now sign language was harder.”
“When did you learn that?”
“Nicaragua. A deaf family needed help.”
The guy’s a saint, Harry thought.
“Is sign language international?” he asked. “Or were you signing in Spanish?”
“Spanish. But I learned American sign later.”
“When do you have time?”
“I don’t sleep a lot.”
They laughed.
“Why did you leave Nicaragua?”
“That was hard. I was really happy there, and doing well. But I worked in a clinic, and we needed so much help. It’s when I decided to study medicine.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t try it in Portugese...”
“Not a language I speak.”
They laughed.
“My family was really happy when I left South America. They always thought I’d be killed.”
“I know the politics are horrible...”
“More than that -- I have a temper. And a self-righteous one at that. I never know when to shut up.”
Good. Not a saint.
“Besides, my family would rather I be a rich doctor than a corrupt priest.”
“Why corrupt?”
“My family’s not religious. Anything touching god is corrupt.”
“Then how did you...”
“I was rebelling. Anything that pissed them off was good enough for me. Finally, the Pope pissed me off even more.”
“Gay rights?”
“That’s almost the minor. But I’m fairly vocal there.”
Harry could believe it. “How big’s your family?” he asked.
“A couple of sisters. My mother. Dad died last year.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I, really. We weren’t always close. Maybe no one honestly is. And he took my being gay hard. Almost blamed me for killing the family name -- being the last son. But he was terrific when I was growing up. Taught me all about football. Baseball. Basketball. Called me ‘Sport.’”
“Were you an athlete in college?”
“I went on a football scholarship. Before I smashed my knees.”
“Do you miss it?”
“I barely watch. Well, a couple of teams. But Paul -- my ex -- really hated sports. I could con him into tennis. Ping pong -- because he could beat me. But anything that involved teamwork, or watching TV, he hated. Not that I have much time just to sit. I’m always busy. The reason my friends ran the ad is they think I work so hard to keep myself distracted.”
“Do you?”
“Well, I lost ten years there. That sometimes pisses me off. The last thing I knew I was happy in Nicaragua. Then came ten years of med school and Paul.”
“How long’s that been over?”
“A year-and-a-half.”
“Have you dated at all?”
“Some. And I slipped into a convenient affair with the guy who runs my office. I don’t dislike him. We just don’t have a lot in common.”
“Is that over?”
Mike hesitated. Which could be a warning.
“It should be,” he said. “He used to be terrific in the office, but now our fighting has screwed up that. We never lived together. He always kept his place. When I split with Paul, I bought a new house. But nothing feels like home...”
“Maybe you should go back to Nicaragua.”
Mike laughed. “I’ve thought about that. But I’m doing good here.”
They talked till near five. Finally, Harry had to get off the phone. “I’m going out tonight. To a movie.”
“I haven’t seen a movie in years.”
“ But I’d like to meet you,” Harry went on.
“That would be great.”
“Call me when you have a chance.”
Harry definitely wasn’t pushing anything.
“Let me give you my number,” Mike insisted. “I get so damn busy, I forget the things I want to do. It would be so nice to actually see a movie.”
Harry took Mike’s number, and they exchanged last names.
“Talk to you soon,” Mike said. “Please call, if I forget.
“Okay,” Harry said. And then he waited. Monday. Tuesday. Sunday. Tuesday, again. Should he call? Did he want to?
Yes.
He called Tuesday night, but got a machine. “I’ll be up late,” he mentioned in his message. But the call wasn’t returned.
The same thing happened Friday, which he decided was soon enough to call again. If Harry was going to meet Mike, it wasn’t going to be that weekend. He already had other plans, which needed to be confirmed. The following Tuesday, he called again. He almost never called anyone before nine in the morning or after ten at night, but he called Mike Tuesday morning at seven,. He figured that might be a good time to find a doctor at home.
Mike was about to leave.
“I’m sorry,” Harry began. “This is a terrible time to call someone, and I never do this at this hour, but I’d like to have dinner with you, and you said to call if you forget, and all I’ve been getting is your answering machine.”
“You did that all in one breath,” Mike said, laughing.
That could explain why Harry couldn’t breathe. Or he might just have been embarrassed.
“Tonight would be fine for dinner,” Mike suggested. “If you can hang on till eight.”
“Eight would be fine.”
“Great. Call you this afternoon -- to set something definite.”
Harry offered his office number.
“Nah, I’d rather talk to your machine,” Mike said. “I never have more than a minute.”
But when Harry got home, there was no message.
“Fuck,” he said. He hated being jerked around, especially by interesting guys. Mike clearly hadn’t returned Harry’s earlier calls because he didn’t want to meet him. Then Harry trapped him at seven in the morning, catching him unprepared.
But why would he give me his phone number? Harry wondered. Why would he give me his name? Maybe that happens when you’re a ex-priest.
Ha called Gordon to commiserate, but Gordon wasn’t home. He left a too-angry message about “another elusive doofus,” then started to make dinner.
Then the phone rang.
“Harry?”
“Gordon? You’re not going to believe what just happened...”
“Wait a second. This isn’t Gordon.”
Harry didn’t recognize the voice. But he wasn’t good at recognizing voices on the phone. He’d once talked with his mother for five minutes thinking she was his aunt.
“This is Mike Kirkland.”
“Oh,” Harry said casually, feeling none of it.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been busy all day. I’m trying to find new offices. And I’m up for a big promotion at the hospital. And I think I told you I’m interviewing new office managers...”
Which is why you shouldn’t marry a doctor, Harry thought, wondering if Mike’s former partner was the real saint.
“I know what you mean,” Harry said instead. He’d been fairly busy . But of course, he hadn’t been saving lives.
“Then I did the dumbest thing,” Mike went on. “I’ve been calling you all afternoon, but had the wrong number. No one was home, and I was damning you for not turning on your machine or giving me your cell number. Finally, a woman answered -- who had nothing to do with you -- and I realized she was the relative of a patient I’d been calling.”
“You did that in one breath, too,” Harry pointed out, feeling just the tiniest bit better.
Mike laughed. “I did,” he admitted. “Anyway, I’m really sorry.”
It was a charming excuse, which Harry almost entirely believed. But he still expected Mike to beg off.
“Is it too late for dinner?” Mike asked instead.
“No,” Harry said, surprised he’d guessed wrong.
“It’s what, seven-fifteen?” Mike asked. “I’ve got twenty minutes of paperwork, well, maybe a half-hour, but if you don’t mind driving here, we could still meet it at eight.”
“Terrific,” Harry allowed.
Mike picked a restaurant that Harry was familiar with in Amherst, but Mike gave him precise directions anyway. “And I’m always late,” he added. “So give me some slack.”
“Sure.”
After hanging up, Harry barely had time to brush his teeth. But even though he hit traffic and didn’t reach the restaurant till five after, he still waited twenty minutes before Mike arrived.
When Harry first saw Mike, he thought, this guy is way too good-looking for me. I’ll never have a chance. Mike was also well-dressed, well-mannered, and just the slightest bit shy. Their conversation began formally, with Harry asking what was good on the menu. Mike carefully explained each of the main dishes, and then let Harry consider. After the waiter took their order, they began to talk more privately. But uncomfortably.
Harry asked about Mike’s job. Mike was terse, then asked about Harry’s work. Harry went on way too long.
Shut up! he thought.
Salad came, and conversation staggered along. Mike set his phone on the table.
“Are you on call?” Harry asked.
“Always.”
A convenient excuse.
“There’s no one to cover?”
“Only in an emergency.”
Which clearly this wasn’t.
The main course arrived, and Harry finally drew Mike into an extended conversation about Nicaragua. He couldn’t always follow, because -- when excited -- Mike started slipping into Spanish, and at one point his casual gestures looked like signing. But Harry was happy to see Mike involved and talking.
When the waiter asked about dessert, Mike looked at his phone, to check the time.
“If you need to go...” Harry started. Though he didn’t want this interrupted.
“I have no plans,” Mike said.
“Should I bring the dessert tray?” the waiter asked.
“I think we’ll go somewhere else,” Mike announced.
The waiter left the check.
“Their dessert’s fine,” Mike told Harry. “But I know a better place for coffee. If you don’t mind.”
Harry said, “Fine.”
Mike paid the check, “To make things easier,” he said. “You can pay for dessert.”
“You pitying a poor architect?” Harry asked. “I’m not exactly on the street.”
“Wait till you see the prices of dessert,” Mike said, laughing. “And I’ll probably have Irish coffee.”
In the quieter, second restaurant, they slipped into opposite sides of a dark-stained booth. Conversation came as easily as it had on the phone. They discussed relationships.
It turned out they’d both recently talked with the same man, through another voice ad. Harry had liked the guy. They’d spoken several times, but had never met. Mike had spoken with the guy quickly when he first called, and met him only once, briefly, late one evening for a drink.
“I don’t think he liked me,” Mike admitted. “The first thing he said was, ‘You’re not blond. You sounded blond on the phone.’”
Harry laughed.
“Now, I don’t think I’m dogmeat,” Mike went on, “but...”
“You’re not dogmeat,” Harry said firmly.
“Thanks,” Mike said, grinning.
“The guy’s just a goofball. I’ve talked with worse.”
“But you liked him?”
Harry shrugged. “Enough.”
The more he explained why, the more Mike explained why not. And the more they discussed a guy neither of them ever wanted to see, the more they learned about each other.
The second restaurant closed at one. Mike was already falling asleep.
“What time do you get up?” Harry asked.
“Six. But I got three calls last night. The last one took a while.”
The phone had beeped only once while they were talking. Mike had answered, and then he’d moved away from the table to keep the call private. “Dr. Kirkland,” he’d said, which made Harry smile. He had a Ph.D. in architecture, on top of his Master’s, but he never used the title.
As the restaurant closed, Harry walked Mike to his car. It was new. Clean. White.
“I had a good time,” Harry said.
“I appreciate your driving.”
“I’d like to see you again.”
“Ditto.”
“I’m busy this weekend, but...”
“That’s fine. I have a seminar.”
Harry laughed. Like Eric once, seemingly long ago. Mike smiled, though probably for a different reason. “I’ll call you Monday,” he promised. “Or call me. And don’t worry about the time.”
“’Long as you don’t think I’m pushing...”
“I want to see you again. And again.”
For a moment, they grinned at each other, then Harry offered his hand. But Mike hugged him, warmly.
It’s stupid, Harry thought. But he knew this was going to work.