Unbecoming Darrell Matthews - 6. Chapter 6

I'd been on the road for an hour when my cell phone rang. I picked it up from the seat beside me, glanced at the display and then flipped it open. "What do you want, Trent?"

"Where the fuck are you?" Trent's voice was a little panicked. "I've been looking for you all over."

"Well don't," I answered shortly. "You're not going to find me in Dallas."

Trent was silent for a moment. "Where are you, then?" he asked, a little calmer.

I glanced at a sign as it whizzed by. "About four hours from home," I replied.

"You're going home?"

"Yeah. Unless you'd rather I didn't."

"Well of course I don't want you to..." Trent seemed to realize what I wasn't saying. "I mean, I'd rather you were here with us."

I checked my mirrors, flipped on the signal and pulled onto the shoulder. After I put the car in park I said, "You heard what happened?"

He paused. "Yeah."

"So you know why I left." It wasn't a question. He knew what I was talking about - I'd told him about feeling like I was causing trouble before.

"Darrell..."

"Stop fussing," I said gently. "You, Mom and Michelle stay and visit. It's the first time in years Mom's had a vacation and Gram and Gramps want to get to know your girlfriend better." I sighed. "Trent - stay. Please. Don't leave because of..." My throat closed up and I wiped furiously at my eyes. "Just stay and visit, okay?" I said instead.

There was another long pause before he answered. "Okay, bro," Trent said at last, quietly. "You'll be okay?"

"I'll be fine. Enjoy yourselves."

"Right," he snorted. "Drive carefully."

"I will." I closed the phone and tossed it on the seat. After a moment's thought, I picked it up again and powered it off. I stuck it in my duffle bag, started the car and pulled back onto the road.

**

The message light was blinking on the phone when I walked into the house. I checked the caller ID - it was my grandparents' number. Instead of listening to it right away, I headed up to my room, dropped off my bag and took a long, hot shower. When I was done, I wrapped a towel around my waist and went back down to the kitchen, scooping up the cordless phone on my way. As I rummaged in the fridge for something to snack on, I only half paid attention to the recording left by my mother.

"Darrell, I spoke to Trent. Although I don't like it, I understand why you left." She sighed. "After talking to Trent and Michelle, I have to say I agree with you - we'll be staying until Friday and then we'll head home. Take care of yourself. I love you." The phone clicked and then a toneless voice starting listing options. I disconnected, tossed the handset on the table and went up to my room. There wasn't any food in the house - at least nothing that appealed to me - and I was hungry.

After pulling on some clothes and stepping into my sandals, I grabbed my keys and wallet and headed out again. It was late but I knew there were a couple of all-night diners still open. As I drove down the street, I decided to do something out-of-character and pointed my car in the direction of the opposite end of town.

Half an hour later I was cruising the streets in the south end, wracking my brain for the name of a twenty-four hour restaurant chain and cursing my stupidity. I wasn't much for spontaneity and my idea of ‘branching out' was looking dumber by the minute. Just as I was about to give up and turn the car around, I spotted a sign stating ‘AJ's Place - open all night'. I relaxed a bit and turned into the parking lot.

Inside the place was clean, if not spotless. A long low counter trailed down the right side of the room, a row of stools in front of it like something out of the fifties. Tables for four to eight people were arranged in neat rows. There were only two windows - on the wall beside the door I'd just come through - and I could see the kitchen through the pass-through window behind the counter. I moved to one of the unoccupied tables, sat down and looked around.

The place was surprisingly busy for two o'clock in the morning. There was only one other empty table in the room and almost all of the stools at the counter had someone sitting in them. As I stared, a woman wearing black slacks and a dark blue blouse walked up with a coffeepot in her hand. "Coffee?" she asked.

I was taken aback. Given the appearance of the place, I'd half expected her to be a bottle blonde wearing a too-tight waitress outfit and sensible shoes. She looked like she'd just come out of an office. I stammered "Yeah, thanks," and watched as she turned over the cup sitting on a saucer in front of me and proceeded to fill it up.

"Menu?" she asked, smiling pleasantly. I nodded and she moved away, chatting with people and refilling cups as she went.

I looked around, trying not to be too obvious about it. Once I'd identified the entrance to the restrooms (always a good thing to know) I began to watch the other patrons. The diner near my place was usually frequented by truckers at this hour and was noisy and fluid. The waitresses always acted like they were on their last nerve and the din of clattering dishes prevailed over everything else. This place was quieter and more... homey. Most of the people I saw were talking among themselves and to others at the tables around them as though they all knew each other.

I was beginning to feel like an outsider again and was about to toss a couple of dollars on the table for the untouched coffee when the waitress came back and handed me a menu. She held it out to me and waited instead of slapping it on the table and walking away. I thanked her, took it and pretended to read. I could make my escape when she left, I thought.

Instead she said, "My name's Donna."

"D-Darrell." I knew I was blushing. I wondered if my bum knee would let me crawl under the table.

"You're new," she continued, ignoring my discomfort. "Live around here or just passing through?"

I decided to stop being such a baby. "I live across town," I replied. "Wanted to try something new."

She laughed, warm and throaty, and looked around. "Well, I don't know about ‘new'," she said. "But probably different from what you're used to."

I nodded. "A little, yeah."

Donna smiled down at me. "If you like, I can come back and sit with you for a bit once I've put your order in."

I briefly considered turning her down and then thought ‘what the hell'. "Sure." I ordered a burger, onion rings and a Coke and she wandered away without writing it down.

"Great, ain't she?" a guy asked, leaning toward me from a nearby table. "Best damn waitress in the country, in my opinion."

"She's nice," I agreed.

He nodded. "If I didn't have a woman at home, Donna would have to beat me off with a stick," he laughed. I opened my mouth to say I wasn't interested when he added "Of course Ed would probably kill me for trying."

"Ed?"

"Her husband," he replied. "State trooper. Good guy. They've got a couple of little ones, too. Girls. Donna's devoted to all three of ‘em."

I watched her passing by the tables, filling cups again. "That's nice," I said lamely. It was nice, though. The guy went back to his conversation with someone on the other side of him.

By the time Donna reached my table her coffeepot was empty. She set it down and slid into the seat opposite me. "So what's your story?" she asked point-blank.

"Pardon?"

"Everyone's got one," she replied with a shrug. "What's yours?"

I played with the spoon on my saucer. "Not much to tell," I answered.

"I play guitar," she said suddenly. I looked up. "I write songs, too."

A smile crept onto my face. "Country?"

"Some." She returned the smile. "Other stuff, too. Jazz, blues... Your turn."

The smile left. "I used to play football."

"Used to?"

"Car accident." I sighed. "Wrecked my knee."

Donna cocked her head to one side. "Scholarship?" she asked.

The woman was clairvoyant. "Gone now," I said. "Your turn."

She looked up at the ceiling, thinking. "Married, two kids."

"I know." When her eyebrows went up I nodded at the next table. "He told me."

"Ah." She grinned. "Bert's always gabbing." A bell dinged and she got up, grabbing the coffeepot. "I'll be back with your food in a minute."

The burger was really good - not one of those frozen-patty, fast food-type of thing you usually get where there's a third more bun than meat. This was thick and juicy with fresh lettuce, a slice of tomato, crisp bacon and melted cheese. The onion rings were just how I liked them, too. Not too much batter and the onion cooked all the way through. This place was a real find.

When I pushed the plate away, Donna was right there to pick it up, coffeepot in hand. I nodded and she poured me another cup. She said, "I'll be back." By the time I polished off my Coke she was once again seated across from me. "Single?" she asked bluntly.

I couldn't help it. I laughed. "Yeah."

"Anyone you've got your eye on?"

"Not at the moment," I replied. "It's... complicated."

She nodded thoughtfully. "So why are you here in the middle of the night?"

"I could ask you the same thing," I countered. "With two kids at home."

"Ed's home," she said. "I'm off at seven and he works at eight. It's covered. Now you."

I stared into my cup. "I pulled an all-nighter driving from Dallas. I was hungry."

"You work in Dallas?"

"Just visiting," I answered, shaking my head. "Had to cut it short."

Donna looked at me for so long I was beginning to feel uncomfortable again. "What happened?" she asked gently.

I shrugged. "Bad scene. I left before things got any worse." I added sugar to my coffee, stirred it and brought it to my lips. "I don't know what else to ask you," I said, taking a sip. The coffee was good, too.

"You'll think of something," she replied, getting up. Around us other people were getting up from the tables, too. "Just holler if you want something, okay?"

"Okay." I watched her for a minute, working the till and then moving to clear and reset the tables. Why couldn't I like women? Life would be so much simpler...

"Darrell?"

I looked up into Brock's blue eyes. "Uh - hi," I said. "How are you?"

He dropped into the seat Donna had just left. "Surprised to see you here," he replied. "How's the therapy going?"

"Done," I answered. "Yours?"

He waved his arm and for the first time I noticed he didn't have a sling anymore. "Good as new," he said. "Of course, I'll never be able to play the piano, but..."

"You play piano?"

"No." Brock laughed at his own joke. "I'd like to learn, though."

Something Trent said popped into my head. "I was wondering - why were you at a private clinic?" At his puzzled look, I lowered my voice and added "For a military injury."

"Oh." He smiled. Brilliantly, I might add. God, he was good-looking! "I wasn't actually in the military. I'm a programming consultant. In the wrong place at the right time. Besides," he went on with a shrug. "The doctors at that clinic specialize in sports injuries - they know how to treat an injury better than those other places."

I nodded. That was one of the reasons I went there, too. I'd kind of hoped they'd be able to get me back to playing football. Fantasy, I know, but... "Sorry I didn't call," I said suddenly.

"That's alright," he said. "I didn't really think you would. Hey," he added. "I'm having a party tomorrow night. Want to come?" He leaned across the table. "There'll be ‘family' there."

I thought about it for a moment as I stared into his eyes. I could really like this guy. "Yeah," I said at last. "Yeah, I'd like to."

"Cool." Brock sat up again. "I'll pick you up?" he asked.

"I'll drive over," I replied. "Where and when?"

"Are you sure?" he pressed. "I could - oh." He looked embarrassed. "I forgot you were in an accident." He grabbed a napkin from the dispenser at the back of the table and then patted his pockets. Turning, he called out "Donna! Got a pen?"

Donna walked over swiftly, handed him one and then walked away. I was kind of sorry to see her go.

Brock scribbled something on the napkin and shoved it across the table. "Here you go," he said. "Dress casual - what you're wearing is fine."

"Thanks." I glanced at what he'd written. Seven thirty and an address about halfway between here and my house in an upscale part of town. "Uh," I said, remembering something. "When you say ‘tomorrow', do you mean tonight? Or..." I let my words trail.

"Tonight, I guess," he said. "Thursday."

I smiled. "Okay, I'll be there."

He grinned back. "God, you're cute when you smile, you know that?" I blushed. "Now you're even cuter."

Donna glided up. "Brock lay off," she chided gently. "Can't you see you're embarrassing him?"

Laughing, he stood and kissed her on the cheek. "Yes, mom," he said. "I'll leave him alone now. I've gotta get going anyway."

"Behave," Donna replied as he headed for the door. She turned back to see me staring after him. "Ah... that kind of ‘complicated', huh?"

"What?" I blinked and looked up at her. "What do you mean?"

She sat down and placed a hand over mine. "It's okay, Darrell," she said. "I'm not about to tell anyone." Waving vaguely she added "And there's no one in here to overhear us anyway."

I looked around. It was true - the place was deserted. "Wow," I murmured. "Sure cleared out fast."

"It'll fill up again in an hour or so." She got to her feet. "I have to vacuum the floors now," she went on. "You sticking around or going home?"

Pulling out my wallet I said, "I think I'll get going before I'm too sleepy to drive." I tossed a bill on the table. "That burger was really filling. Made me drowsy."

Donna frowned. "You awake enough to drive?" she asked, concerned.

"I'll be fine - can't relax behind the wheel yet," I explained. "Thanks... for everything."

"Any time," she said. "I mean it. I'm here Sunday through Thursday if you ever want company."

I smiled. "I'll remember that."

**

I slept most of the day, finally waking up at about two o'clock in the afternoon. I wolfed down a bowl of Cheerios wondering what possessed me to accept Brock's invitation. As I put my bowl in the dishwasher I decided it was the smile. Something about it just made me tingle from my toes upward. It made me feel like I'd just made him the happiest man in the world. I liked that.

I took a long, hot shower, shaved carefully and spent way too long picking out something to wear. At last I settled on a pair of my favorite jeans and a snug black t-shirt. Since I wasn't working out anymore - at least not as much as I had been - it wasn't as tight as it used to be. I'd gotten quite a few compliments on how I'd filled it out before. Now, as I stared at my reflection in the mirror, I flashed back to my brother's comment on how I'd lost weight. I guess he was right. I shrugged and sat on the bed to tie up my shoes.

I pulled up in front of the address Brock had given me at seven forty-five. It was a sprawling ranch-style house on a huge plot of land. The entire thing was surrounded by a low stone wall put there, I thought, more for esthetic reasons than security. As I drove up to the house, I counted eight other vehicles parked on the circular drive. It'd be a fairly tame party, unless those cars had been packed with people when they arrived.

As I waited for someone to answer my knock I wiped the palms of my hands on my jeans. I don't know why I was so nervous, except maybe because I was going to spend the evening with an openly gay guy in a crowd of openly gay guys. Maybe not all of them, but he'd said there would be ‘family' here tonight. The idea was exciting and frightening at the same time. I'd told Trent about the party when he phoned this afternoon and he'd been more than supportive. His exact words were "Fuckin' A, bro! Go for it!" Despite my misgivings, I had to grin at the memory.

The door opened suddenly and Brock stood there, smiling that thousand-kilowatt smile and looking fantastic in a close-fitting pair of jeans and a t-shirt with a picture of a rooster on it that read ‘Kiss the Cock'. I nearly burst out laughing.

"Hey! You made it!"

I nodded. "Only had to stop once to ask for directions," I replied, shoving my hands in my pockets.

Brock shook his head. "Guys never ask for directions, Darrell," he said with mock sadness. "If you do, people will think you're gay or something." He stepped back and waved his hand. "Come on in. I want you to meet everyone."

I glanced at him nervously. ‘Everyone' sounded like a lot of people. As soon as the thought crossed my mind I dismissed it. There couldn't be that many gay people in town and the chances that I knew any of them were very slim. I nodded, straightened my shoulders and stepped inside.

The interior of the house was definitely ‘ranch style'. Exposed wooden beams, light wood furniture and bright colors decorated every room. Brock showed me the main part of the house including where to find the bathroom and then ushered me toward the patio doors. "I sent them all out to the pool house," he explained. "It's easier to keep tabs on them out there."

The ‘pool house' turned out to be another building about the size of my house situated next to an Olympic-sized swimming pool. It had a kitchen, games room and guest bedrooms - four of them - along with two bathrooms and a living room. The living room contained large, comfortable furniture and had a huge fireplace and was obviously meant for hanging out and being conversational, as attested by the six people that occupied it. Brock introduced me to each of them and then grabbed me by the arm, steering me to the games room. I forgot their names as soon as I'd heard them.

The ‘games room' was a huge den, really. A pool table stood in one corner, surrounded by three or four guys arguing good-naturedly over whether the last shot counted since no one had called a pocket. Brock told the shooter to quit cheating and then moved to a group of people gathered in front of a wide-screen television set. Four of them were playing a game on an X-Box while the others alternated between cheering for their chosen player and cat-calling the others. Despite the raised voices, it was clear they were all friendly with each other.

Brock introduced me to all of them as well, but the only name I heard was "Adam Warren".