Quabbin - 10. Chapter 10

Cameron was a little pissed when I told him what I thought I had to. I’d run it through quickly in the shower, then more carefully driving to work. Standing in the parking lot of the Mill, I’d made a fast call to my brother Ron, two time zones closer than my brother Ted. “You don’t lie very well, Jim,” Ron had confirmed. “You never have.”

But I’d never slept with someone my best friend was drooling over. ‘Specially when there was a good chance he’d sleep with him, too, pretty soon. Still, Cameron was mainly pissed ‘cause he woken up by himself. In another minute, he was laughing. “See that’s where you’re ten years younger than I am, kid. In fact, that’s where you’re a still a dork.”

“Why?” I had to ask.

“Because I don’t feel guilty about these things. If Kevin had gone home with me, and used me the way he used you, I wouldn’t feel dumb about telling you.”

I was still sorting out the me’s and you’s, before I thought to be insulted. “I don’t feel used,” I said.

“Even if he never wants to sleep with you again?”

I grinned. “Well, isn’t that every guy’s dream? Sleep with someone that hot, then have him make no demands.”

He laughed. “Not if you want to sleep with him again.”

“Not sure I do,” I said. Which really threw him.

“What?”

“Yeah, well...” I grinned, probably dorkily, then sipped some of his too-sweet coffee.

“Hey!” he protested, then laughed when I pointed out that he felt more comfortable sharing guys with me than coffee.

“So, you going to Boston with him,” I said next.

“Oh, yeah.” He was beaming. Cameron was never gonna settle down.

He planned to call Kevin around noon, figuring the guy would need his rest. Cameron also thought he might do “the decent thing” and phone another guy he knew -- so there’d be four of us going to Boston. I didn’t ask if this friend was for him or for me. I was still sorting that out when Kevin jogged in.

“I stopped by the police station,” was the first thing he said. “They don’t want me running anywhere in the state.”

“Looking like that,” Cameron cracked, “you’re definitely not safe.”

He was wearing shorts and a very tight T.

As Kevin grinned, then smiled at me and casually chucked me under the chin, Cameron rolled on. “Though if you listen to the cops,” he said, “you’d think we should be living under martial law. And Waldron has what? -- fifteen thousand people?”

“I didn’t realize it was that big,” Kevin admitted. He walked over to where Cameron was sitting. “Thanks for last night, guys. I really needed to get drunk.” Standing behind Cameron, Kevin put his hands on Cameron’s shoulders.

At this point, Cameron and I looked at each other. And if I thought he was gonna say the wrong thing, I might’ve kicked him. But he’s sometimes brighter than I think.

“You still up for Boston?” he asked Kevin.

“Sure thing.” He said that grinning. “When can you guys get free?”

Soon as I figure out the sleeping arrangements, I wanted to shout. There was obviously something going on between the two of them this morning that wasn’t going on between Kevin and me. As he stayed behind Cameron chair, Cameron kind of looped his arms back and was tickling Kevin’s legs.

“You really want me along?” I asked.

Cameron didn’t have to answer, but Kevin said, “Yes!” immediately. Then he undid that by adding, “Don’t you want to go?”

I was thinking of doing rounds, right there, to give them an hour-or-so together. That might solve the whole thing. “Let me think about it,” I said, and got no argument.

“I gotta shower,” Kevin announced. “But I’ll be back. What time do you guys get off?”

This time Cameron and I both cracked up. It was too much. Kevin simply grinned and slipped out the door.

“OO-KK!” Cameron howled, after he kicked shut the door so Kevin wouldn’t hear. “I’m going to the gym. Gotta work this off.”

“I’m not going to Boston,” I assured him. “There’s no way.”

“You don’t think I want you there,” he said, laughing. “No offense.”

“Will Kevin go? Just with you?”

“That’s why I need the gym,” he joked. “If he pulls back after you say ‘No,’ I gotta be thinking clearly. Either to change his mind or keep from killing you.”

“You could always lose me,” I suggested, “on the Freedom Trail.”

“I was thinking of dumping you overboard, during the Tea Party.”

We laughed about that, though I couldn’t see Cameron bothering to show Kevin any of that tourist crap. Except as kind of extended foreplay.

“Coming to the gym?” he asked. “No one’ll miss us here.”

“I’d rather sleep at your desk.”

“Fine,” he said, grinning. “Don’t strain yourself.”

So he left, and I took a nap. And dreamed. Now there are times I hate dreams, and times when I haven’t slept long enough even to trigger them. Then, I miss their goofiness. This time, I could’ve skipped the whole batch.

I was in Venice. Dane and the slumlord were there, and we were all in masks, and cloaks, with lute music playing. This was a movie I’d seen -- I knew it and just couldn’t remember its name. Except I was playing the guitar Dane had given me, not a lute, and he had way too much hair, almost shoulder length, that couldn’t possibly stay that perfect the way the slumlord was waltzing him around. In real life, I’ll bet the slumlord can’t even hum a waltz, but he was pretty impressive here. Then Dane was on a swing, going happily out over the canals. His long cape was flowing, and the gondoliers, below, were idiotically grinning. I threw my guitar, or lute, or whatever it was, at them, then leaped from a handy railing onto the swing, landing, standing, behind Dane as he just kept pumping away. The slumlord glared from a bridge, while Dane arched romantically back to kiss me as I leaned down. But with his cape catching the wind, we suddenly lost our balance and fell, laughing, together, into the canal.

Which is when I woke up, in the crash, on the floor. I must’ve tipped too far back in Cameron’s rolling chair. When he came into the office, a half-hour later, I was still trying to figure out how much damage I’d done to my brain.

“Do you think I really have any kind of chance with Dane?” I asked. I’m sure it came out of nowhere for Cameron, but he answered as if we’d been talking about Dane all morning.

“He really loves that guy,” Cameron admitted. “They’re talking about having kids.”

I couldn’t imagine raising the slumlord’s children, even if he died right after they were born. “Then I’m a total jerk?” I asked.

Cameron looked at me but didn’t say anything -- as if there was nothing he could say.

“Am I?”

“You’re a nice guy, Jim,” he insisted. “You really are. And I’m almost jealous for how you feel about Dane. I’ve never felt that way about anyone, and I’m not even sure I can. I look at me and sometimes see a version of Denny Parnell in ten years -- only better looking.”

He had to add that, grinning away. I guess he was getting too close to something uncomfortable.

“But I really don’t think you have even the smallest shot with Dane,” he went on. “I don’t think you have since your accident. And it wasn’t that... Dane isn’t that small. It’s more like Kevin, and the guy he was living with...”

“I’ll bet they still love each other,” I said, that just hitting me. “They couldn’t have gotten over it that fast.”

Cameron grinned again, unable to pass that by. “So you’ve never slept with an almost married man? Congratulations! You’re jumping all kinds of fences today.”

“The point is, Kevin hasn’t really left him...”

“The point is, he will. Like you and Dane would’ve split. If you hadn’t had that year, all smashed up, you would’ve gone automatically onto the next guy -- without even thinking about it. Hell, you were in New Orleans! How cool was that?”

It could’ve been very cool, and I had to admit it was part of the reason I’d chosen Tulane over a half-dozen other Catholic schools that wanted me. I could picture myself dancing, happy and shirtless at the Mardi Gras, mooning all the other shirtless guys. Though I could still see myself married to Dane, even before med school.

“Let me ask you something,” Cameron went on. “If you’d gone and married Dane -- say you got married in college and twenty years later were still happily together -- how many guys would you ever have slept with?”

“If we were happily married…” I tried to dodge.

“How many?” Cameron pushed.

“Oh, come on,” I stalled. “You know the answer. This isn’t even a fair fight…”

“Well, that’s not enough -- no matter how much you love Dane. You’ve got to have something to compare with… some way to know that you’ve chosen right. You can’t just take the first guy who says ‘Yes.’ ”

“It was never that,” I insisted.

“And how many men have you slept with now?” Cameron pressed. “Two? That’s something I wouldn’t even admit.”

He was way off, but it wasn’t his fault -- I hadn’t told him about that part of my trip. I hadn’t told anyone, and -- especially -- I didn’t write it down. For a while, I tried to remember their names. I pretended they weren’t really hookers, just guys I’d met. Then it was like the number started meaning something, which I hadn’t meant it to -- I was just trying to have fun. And I wanted the guys to have fun, too -- how dumb was that? I couldn’t pretend I could make the sex terrific -- or even good -- ‘cause I knew they were only doing it for the money. But I didn’t want them to hate their time with me. And sometimes they didn’t seem to. Sometimes, they laughed a lot. But, finally, I just let it all go. No names. No thinking. Just fun. But I hadn’t told Cameron, or my brothers, or anyone, ‘cause I didn’t want it all getting back to Dane. I could somehow block how long he ended up sleeping with the slumlord, as long as he finally came back to me. But I didn’t want him knowing how many men I’d needed, trying to block him. Of course now, Cameron would probably tell everyone about Kevin, and Dane would find out as soon as he got back.

“I’ve slept with a lot of guys,” I quietly told him, though I could tell from his look he didn’t believe me. “I slept my way around the world, paying for it.”

I was trying to be honest, but when he still looked at me like I was bluffing, I started giving him names and places and details he’d know I couldn’t be making up. Somewhere in my head, a list of names and countries and descriptions just kicked in, and somewhere in that seemingly-endless list Cameron sat on his desk and started grinning.

“Fuck me,” he finally said, grinning his biggest grin. “I had you all wrong.”

“Not all,” I said, laughing. “You know me pretty well. It’s just that… well… some things I didn’t want...”

I didn’t go on, but Cameron just sat there, I think still readjusting. Eventually, he said, “If it’s Dane you’re worried about, I won’t tell -- I won’t tell anyone. If you don’t want it getting back to him…”

“It doesn’t matter, Cam!” I suddenly shouted. I knew where the anger came from, but wasn’t sure why it was breaking just then. “I’m never gonna have Dane! You’re right! He’s gone! I’m a moron!”

Cameron started to say something, but I wouldn’t let him.

“So it doesn’t matter what he knows!” I went on. “Or if he cares! He’s off in Italy -- on his fucking honeymoon! When he gets back, he’s gonna raise kids with that geek! And probably live happily ever after!”

“You might get him in his 40's,” Cameron cracked. “When things start to fall apart...”

He was just trying to calm me, but... “I don’t want him in his 40's!” I yelled. “I don’t ever want him again! I want to be over him! Through being a jerk! Over the... whole… god… damned… thing!”

I was suddenly out of breath, and totally confused. It came from having too little sleep, and too much to drink, and still being way too much in love. But I stood there, with Cameron grinning, then laughing at me, till I had to start laughing, too.

“Come with us to Boston,” he said. “We’ll find you a hooker...”

“See! That’s why I didn’t want you to know!” I shouted. “You think it’s all just fun!”

“Hey... Hey... Hey,” he said. But it was OK -- I really wasn’t mad anymore. Somewhere in that list, I remembered it had been fun for me, too. And working through their names just made me want to be with all those guys again, or any of them.

“Anyway...” Cameron finally said.

“Anyway...” I stupidly repeated. And the whole thing gave me the perfect reason not to go to Boston.