Fidel - 4. Arnold Jurgenz

On a Saturday night a couple of weeks later, Bart and Robert had returned to their freshly painted and decorated apartment and Fidel was becoming bored spending evenings alone. He’d gone through all the music CDs in Sanjay’s collection, decided he loved Donizetti and Rossini but not Puccini, and was sort of interested in an old copy of Voltaire’s Zadig, but his muscles felt cramped. It had been raining for three days and was still pelting down so he couldn’t even go for a jog.

The front doorbell rang. He checked the time. Half past nine. A bit late for visitors. Who could it be? Dragging on a pair of shorts he went through the house to the front door, put the chain on, opened it and peered through.

‘Sorry to bother you,’ said the man in wet hair, sneakers, jeans and a thin nylon jacket, ‘I was hoping to see the Karims. I saw a light on so hoped they'd be home.’

‘Who are you?’ Fidel asked not too politely.

‘Oh, sorry! Here’s my card.’ He passed an official looking identity card. ‘My name’s Jurgenz—Arnold Jurgenz. I'm one of the police officers who interviewed the Karims after the murder of Robert’s headmaster four years ago. There have been some developments I thought I’d pass on.’ He flicked his head to shake off the water and gave a gigantic sneeze.

‘Why are you so wet?’

‘I jogged over.’

‘How far?’

‘About fifteen kilometres.’

‘Are you sane? And why so late?’

‘Long story.’ Another sneeze and he began to shiver. ‘Obviously they aren't here any more, can you give me an address so I can find them?’

‘They're away; I'm looking after the place. You're going to get sick if you don’t get warm and dry. Your ID looks authentic so come in till the rain stops.’ He unhitched the chain.

‘Sure?’ Arnold kicked off his sneakers then hesitated, looking decidedly pathetic, not in the least like any policeman Fidel had ever seen.

A gust of wind blew rain into the house so Fidel reached out, grabbed his visitor’s wrist, dragged him inside and slammed the door.

The policeman stood and dripped on the mat.

‘Take off that soaking jacket.’

Arnold opened the zip and squirmed ineffectively. ‘Give us a hand? It’s stuck to me.’

Fidel took hold of the collar and literally peeled the garment from the shivering man, revealing a naked torso.

‘You're blue with cold. Get those jeans off too and take a hot shower while I make us something warming to drink.’

‘I’m not wearing underpants.’

‘Neither am I!’

‘I feel stupid.’

‘You are, but look magnificent. Come on.’

The visitor stripped, Fidel led the way to his flat, tossed Arnold a towel, and turned to prepare cocoa.

‘I don’t even know the name of my rescuer.’

‘Fidel. The shower’s over there.’

‘Thanks, Fidel, you're a brick.’

Ten minutes later the young man stepped out of the shower looking pinker and healthier. Fidel watched him towel himself dry, wondering where this was going. Arnold was very attractive. Broad chest, and arms that suggested a bit of weight lifting. Slim waist, perky bum and strong legs.

Arnold hung the towel over the shower door and gazed thoughtfully at his host. ‘Checking out my tackle?’ he asked with a hint of defiance.

‘Amongst other things. The tackle’s pretty ordinary, but your body isn't. Do you lift weights?’

‘Used to, but my wife tells me it’s vanity. Got the sulks when I told her she spends four times as long and ten times as much as me on herself, if you consider the hairdresser, makeup, nail clinic, shopping for clothes, jazzercise classes. She told me I was an arsehole and refused to speak for a week. Then I discovered she’d told all her girlfriends I was a vain prick. Made me feel so stupid I stopped doing any exercise. Now I'm worried I'm getting fat.’

‘No fat I can see. You were going to tell me why you jogged all the way here at night in the rain.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well?’

‘Are you queer, like Robert and Bart?’

‘What’s queer?’

‘Gay.’

‘You mean happy? Not particularly.’

‘I mean you like guys.’

‘I can count the number of men I like on the fingers of one hand. How many do you like?’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘No, I don’t. What do you mean?’

‘You have sex with men.’

‘The only male I've enjoyed sex with was another kid when we were twelve.’

‘So you're a virgin?’

‘How many men have you had sex with?’

‘None!’

‘Then we’re both virgins.’

‘Ok, I’ll start again. I liked Robert and Bart and they are a couple. I have no problem with that. Do you expect to end up with a male or female partner in the future?’

‘At the rate I'm going I’ll be a bachelor forever.’

Arnold held up his hands. ‘I give in. You're you, and don’t want to be labelled. I respect that. In fact I like it.’ He laughed. It was an open and melodious sound that made Fidel smile. ‘Ha, that surprised you, didn’t it?’

‘Yeah. I was expecting at least a sneer.’

‘Not from me, I've had gay sensitivity training.’

‘Not what I experienced from the cops when I first arrived in Brisbane. But the cocoa’s getting cold. There’s a hard chair at the table, or you can sit here.’ Fidel patted the bed beside him. ‘I've nothing more comfortable. You're my first visitor in two and a half years.’

Arnold shrugged to indicate the bed was fine, sat and accepted a cup, tasted it, pronounced it excellent, then leaned back against the wall. ‘Where are the Karims?’

‘In Europe and India.’

‘And they trust you to look after the place. How old are you? Are you still at school?’

‘Yes. Seventeen and yes. How old are you? What sort of cop are you, and why were you wandering around improperly dressed for rain?’

‘Twenty-two, I'm a constable, and was so pissed off with my wife I just dragged on the nearest things I could find and took off before I smashed her face in. Better wet and cold than in prison for domestic violence. You can imagine what they do to cops in jail.’

‘Why do you stay with her? Do you have kids?’

‘That's part of the problem, she wants them, I don’t, because the whole world’s fucked and there's no way I'm going to land an innocent a kid in this mess.’ He thought for a bit. ‘I don’t know why I stay with her. I suppose it’s because if I left I’d be admitting I'm a failure.’ He grunted a laugh. ‘You’ll never guess why I got married.’ He stopped and looked at Fidel who nodded at him to continue.

Arnold took a deep breath, shrugged and sighed loudly. ‘While we were interviewing the Karims about the murder, they seemed such a tightly knit family who would stand by each other through thick and thin, and the house was cosy, and I said to myself that's exactly the sort of family I want to have. So when this chick told me I was the ideal man to share her life and she liked everything about me and we should marry, I said yes. But it wasn’t anything like I expected. After a few months we got sick of each other and I couldn’t raise it any more. She blamed the weight lifting, but I told her it was because she was such an ugly bitch and…’ he shrugged and grinned ruefully, then looked across at Fidel with a frown. ‘Why am I telling you this? We don’t know each other. I’m such a fuckwit.’

Fidel looked into the sad, brown, hooded eyes and said nothing. Arnold’s light brown hair was almost dry and hung casually across his forehead. His nose was a little shorter and wider than perfect, but suited the generous mouth with its soft, slightly parted lips. The face was sensitive, but saved from softness by a sharp jaw and square chin. Two deep frown lines marred the prominent eyebrow ridge. Fidel leaned across and smoothed them with his forefinger.

Arnold didn’t react.

‘Your clothes aren't going to dry tonight.’

‘No.’

‘Will your wife expect you home?’

‘Too bad if she does.’

‘What about your work?’

‘Tomorrow’s my day off. What’s with all these questions?’

‘I have an organised mind that likes to organise.’ Fidel had been thinking about Robert saying it was up to each individual to take control of his life, and was wondering if now was the time. He recalled everything Arnold had said and done since arriving, and decided it was now or never. ‘D’you want to stay the night?’

Arnold’s eyes, already mere slits, closed even further. His lip curled slightly. ‘Here? In your bed? Naked? With you?’

Fidel winced at the tone. He’d deliberately avoided specifics. It was Arnold who'd jumped to conclusions. Pulling a hard mouth he snapped, ‘Fuck you then. Put on your fucking wet clothes and piss off if that's how you react when someone innocently offers you shelter!’

He made to get up but Arnold pulled him back onto the bed. ‘I’m sorry, Fidel. I didn’t mean to sound like that. It just came out. Sort of reflex from years of making sure no one would think I'm queer. I'm really sorry. I think you're a great guy. If anything I'm jealous because you seem to know what you're doing and where you're going while I've got myself into a mess I don’t know how to get out of. Please forgive me. I’ll go, but believe me, I didn’t mean anything bad.’

This time it was Fidel who pulled Arnold back onto the bed. ‘Don’t be stupid. Of course you're staying. I can make up a bed on the floor if you like.’

Arnold’s smile was indecipherable. ‘Too much fuss.’

‘I don’t wear pyjamas.’

‘That makes two of us. Actually, it is getting chilly, shall we…?

They did, and as it seemed churlish to leave his guest feeling chilly, Fidel bravely encased him in an embrace that warmed more than just his skin and it was very late before they stopped admiring each others bodies, turned out the light, and slept the sleep of men happy in the knowledge that they are on the point of sorting out at least one of life’s many problems.

The rain had stopped, birds were singing and sunlight streamed through the window when the two young men woke, raced to the toilet and cross-pissed with groans of relief.

‘Argh! Thought I was going to burst. Didn’t want to wake you.’ Arnold smiled across the bowl, then sighed and stretched. ‘That was the best sleep I've had for ages.’

‘Yeah… it was nice.’

‘You sound surprised.’

‘This is the first time I've shared a bed. I always imagined it’d be a nuisance having to think about turning over, how to lie, which side to sleep on. But it was easy, as if we were made to fit together.’

‘You think too much. Be like me and just take things as they come.’

‘And end up living with someone I dislike. Scrambled eggs Ok for breakfast?’

‘Fidel! Will you marry me?

‘Not till you get a divorce. Make the toast and put the jug on.’

They took their trays out to the patio and warmed themselves in the sun.

‘How'd you get your all-over tan?’

‘I do the gardening in my skin.’

‘Do Bart and Robert visit?’

‘They were staying here until last week.’

‘What do they think about you running around in the nud?’

‘They’re the same.’

‘Kinky. A ménage a trois.’

‘What’s that?’

‘A threesome.’

‘No way! We’re good friends and intend to stay that way. It’s Saturday so they’ll be home and we can go and see them this morning if you like.’

‘Or we could go back to bed.’

Fidel frowned. ‘Arnold, I like you; I think you're sexy and I loved what we did last night. You're gentle and easy. But you have a wife and too many problems. When I said I like to be organised, I meant it. My own life is difficult enough to keep in order, so when you're free and have decided whether you want to be married with a woman or living with a man, let me know.’

‘Fair enough. Just thought I’d let you know I'm not a wham-bam-thankyou-man guy. In fact you're not only the first man I've spent the night with, but this is the first time I've had impulse sex with anyone. I’ve been a boring little goody good, and criticised everyone who wasn’t like me. That’s probably why I became a cop.’

‘From my experience of cops, you're in the wrong job. How do you get on with the others?’

‘Not well, which is why I'm still a constable. Another source of insults from my wife who was counting on my rapid rise through the ranks.’

‘Let’s clear this stuff away and if we’re going visiting, find you something to wear. Lucky we’re roughly the same size. I’ll hang your jacket and jeans out here and they’ll be dry when we get back.’

Arnold took Fidel by the shoulders, drew him close and kissed him firmly. ‘That was a kiss of friendship, Fidel, so you really shouldn’t have an erection; a fellow might read more into it than you intend.’ With a light laugh and a sharp slap on his new friend’s bum he carried the trays inside, whistling happily as he washed the dishes while Fidel lifted a handset from its wall-mounted cradle.

‘What’re you doing?’

‘I’m going to ring Bart.’

‘On that old thing? I didn’t think they were still in use. Where's your Smartphone?’

‘Never had one, never want one. The idea of being available every minute, day and night sends my blood cold. And I've read too many stories about how easy they are to hack, tap and use to get information about the user. Is yours on?’

‘Sure is.’

‘That means Google and your internet provider, and the cops if they're interested, and your wife all know where you spent the night, where you are now and every message and phone call you’ve made recently. If anyone gets hold of your phone they’ll be able to read all your old messages, hear your phone calls, see what you’ve been watching on the internet and wank over all those nude selfies you’ve been taking.’

‘How’d you know about them?’ Arnold’s voice was sharp and hard.

‘Just seemed the sort of thing a vain ex body-builder would do.’

‘So you were only guessing?’

‘Yes.’

‘Sorry for the reaction, but as it happens I've been doing exactly that—not because I'm especially vain, but to see if I really was putting on weight and developing love-handles. My wife must have checked my phone and downloaded them to a memory stick. When I arrived home yesterday I could hear her in the lounge with her girlfriends. I hate all her friends, so snuck to the shower and was just drying myself when I heard raucous laughter and my name mentioned. Curious, I crept along to see what was happening. She and three fellow harpies were wetting themselves laughing at photos of me, starkers. The bitch had plugged the USB stick into the TV. That’s why I grabbed my jacket and jeans and took off. Just thinking about it makes me feel hot and sick with embarrassment. I know they’ll tell their husbands, one of whom is also a cop. How the fuck can I face these people? They’ll be telling everyone about how vain I am, taking nude selfies.’

‘Give us a look?’

Arnold hesitated. ‘Might as well.’ He flicked through several photos then showed five to Fidel, who looked at them carefully. ‘What do you think?’

Fidel was grinning. ‘Arnold! Your wife has done you a favour! You look superb! And I mean superb. The light is perfect, every muscle is clear; you look like a photo model. Even your face looks better than reality. And you’ve a slight hard on; just enough to make you look better endowed than you are. All her girlfriends will be so jealous they’ll be queuing up to drag you into bed; their husbands too I wouldn’t be surprised.’

‘You're serious?’

‘I want a print-out to wank over. Trust me, Arnold, if she wanted to hurt you she’s shot herself in the foot. You're beautiful. I wish I was hairless.’

‘Hairy is sexier.’

‘Not to most people. But how did you manage to take those? You didn’t hold the phone—your arm’s not long enough.’

‘Taped it to the mirror so I could check what I looked like, adjusted the lighting and set the timer.’

‘So you are vain. But with reason.’