Behind The Mask - 1. Chapter 1

I was beginning to feel paranoid every work day at quitting time. The thing that was happening seemed perfectly harmless and coincidental the first time, but after three consecutive occurrences, I was beginning to feel like it was personally directed toward me. It would happen once I reached the sidewalk in front of the high rise commercial building where I worked, and began walking to my apartment or toward a small Greek restaurant where I frequently ate before going home to an apartment building a few blocks away. Will it happen again, I wondered? It was nearly quitting time, so I would soon find out.

Garret, a fellow worker, waited while I straightened a stack of papers and turned off my desk light. Then we walked to the elevator together.

“What’s with the concerned look, Kelly?” he asked while we waited for an elevator.

“Do I look concerned?” I asked, not wanting to look silly from Garret’s viewpoint. “Probably just stress from work. Nothing a strong drink can’t heal. The elevator has arrived,” I said to stop the unwelcome questions. Truthfully, I was a bit concerned. But if I had told Garret why, he probably would have laughed.

“Maybe you just need to get laid,” he said. “Julie has a hot sister about your age. Would you like me to fix you up with her? I think I can.”

Anything said that might expose my sexual orientation to my fellow workers other than Garrett was something I didn’t want to talk about in the elevator that had mostly people from our place of work riding down with us, so I frowned and did not respond to his suggestion until we got out at the ground floor. Then I grabbed the sleeve of his shirt and gently pulled him to the side and stopped. .

“As to your straight date suggestion, Garrett, no way! I already told you in the strictest confidence that I don’t swing that way. I’m attracted to men only…never women, and that’s something that just doesn’t change. I know that you meant well, but forget it, Garret.”

“Well, you never mention a new flame in your league, so I thought you’d like to try my league. Sorry, Kelly, I won’t mention that again.”

“That, I would appreciate. Now I want to get out of here and home.”

“Yeah, friend, me too,” Garrett said and shot me a thumbs up as we headed toward the building exit.

Although Garrett is a hetero, he is a true friend and about my only close connection to the straight community. We bid each other “Good evening” at the revolving doors of the entrance to the insurance company where we work and where I am a high paid second level executive. When I exited the building, I was immediately assaulted by the steamy heat of early August and the unwelcome sound of tires hissing on the hot asphalt and the occasional honk of an impatient driver. The stench of the heated asphalt mixed with that of car exhaust, sweaty armpits and a potpourri of other unpleasant odors that define a big city. The apartment building where I lived was only two blocks from the office, so there was no need to drive my Mercedes coupe to work. Within fifteen feet of the revolving doors, I had taken off my wine colored blazer, loosened my silver-on-black paisley tie, unfastened the top two buttons of my plain white shirt and hooked a finger under the collar of my coat and draped it over my shoulder. About ten feet ahead, I saw the object of my concern…an outdoor, sidewalk telephone booth. As I approached it, I eyed it with suspicion. The other three times, it started ringing as I approached and kept ringing as soon as I walked on. The pattern was consistent. I was now both angry and leery.

The first time it happened, it didn’t seem unusual. You know, person A says to person B, “You know that sidewalk phone by the big insurance building on Jenkins Ave? When I find out if the deal went through, I’ll call you at that phone. It’s convenient for you, so be there at five past five PM.” The explanation for the phone ringing when I walked by at that time might be just that simple, so I had paid it no heed at all. The second time, I stopped and looked around to see if a person might be waiting for someone to call at that particular time, but I only saw hordes of people scurrying in both directions on their way home from work or perhaps shopping. So I shrugged and walked on. The third time it happened, I was pissed off and kept walking as if it had never happened. And now it was happening again. I looked all around first, and then entered the booth and picked up the receiver.

“Hello,” I said in as neutral a tone as I could manage, considering the circumstances. But no one answered, nor did they hang up. That really raised my hackles.

“I don’t know who in the hell you are, but I want this harassment crap to stop! Somewhere out there you are watching me. If I find out where you are, you‘ll sure as hell regret this bullshit! Stop…it!”

Then I slammed down the receiver and turned around and again looked to see if someone near by might be waiting for a call at that booth, but hadn’t heard the phone ring. As before, no one was. By this time, I was feeling as if I was being stalked for some unknown reason, and I was furious. To be honest, I was fearful too. These days, you never know what’s out there. I looked behind me before walking on at a hurried pace, and crossed the intersection. The entrance to my building was a mere twenty feet from the corner. I looked both ways again before entering the foyer. I got the mail and made sure no one was about to enter the foyer and then quickly catch the security door from shutting after I had gone through it. Luckily, no one was. Three people that I recognized as fellow tenants were waiting for the elevator to come down.

When I got on the elevator I punched nineteen and made room for others. A smile or a nod is sufficient acknowledgement in that situation. When I entered my apartment, I tossed my coat over a chair and immediately mixed a dry martini. Then I went to the huge waist-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall panels of heavy window glass and opened the chocolate- brown drapes, thinking that the stalker might be on the opposite sidewalk scanning the building and wondering which apartment I lived in, if he or she didn’t already know. Light flooded in from the east. I looked down upon a vacant lot where a condemned apartment building had once stood. Six kids were kicking around a soccer ball. I thought of how simple and carefree life was for most kids. To the right of the vacant lot was an auto parts business. To the left of the park was an antiquated plain brick former hotel that had gone out of business a few years ago and had been turned into a government sponsored facility to support war veterans who where for one reason or another unable to find work, and therefore financial indigents. It was about as contrasting to my high rise luxury apartment and my affluent lifestyle as I could imagine. I pitied those tenants. On the only park bench, a couple sat; he with his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as they kissed. It made me feel envious and lonely. I desperately wanted to love and be loved, and that is one thing that money can’t buy.

I put on a CD to distract me from my thoughts about the mysterious calls at the telephone booth. While the music played, I worked a newspaper crossword puzzle until it was finished. Then I got up and went to my bar to fix another drink, but changed my mind.

I needed to be around people or with someone in particular. I immediately thought of my ex-lover, Brad Duncan. We hadn’t broken up because we no longer loved each other; we just weren’t compatible enough in the sack. Oral sex had become beyond boring, and both of us preferred to be pitchers rather than catchers. Another less obvious reason that contributed to our disenchantment with each other was the fact that Brad liked partying with his many friends, and I didn’t. Conversations about “Who do you think will be crowned Mister Leather this year”, or gossip like, “Guess what couple broke up over a hot little cheeky nineteen year old with a huge banana”, I found boring and immature. I must confess that I’m categorically a prude and overly particular. And perhaps being age thirty-two, I had convinced myself that I was just too old for the bar scene where youth rules the night.

Because our nineteen month love affair had broken off cordially, we had remained good friends. I decided to call him and talk. After five rings, he answered.

“Hi Brad…its Kerry. I need to talk to you about something serious that’s happening to me. It seems I’m being stalked. Would you please come over here?”

“Serious, huh? Is he cute? Never mind, Kerry, I’ll be there in less than ten minutes,” he said. “Bye.”

I checked to make sure that I had plenty of ice for drinks, then lit a cigarette and went to the window and looked down. The daylight was dimming, and I looked up and saw a dark cloud slithering over the top of my building, thus explaining the early darkness. Row after row of street lights untimely came on all at once. Only an extremely dense storm could block out that much light. I jumped when I heard a knock at the door. I had forgotten that Brad still had a key to the apartment that was now mine. But we wanted it that way in case one of us got ill or something, and I had a key to his pad too.

“It’s unlocked!” I said loudly.

Brad entered and closed the door.

“Hi…what cha been do’n?” he said in his usual and intended slang.

“Not much,” I said.

“How’s your love life?”

“Ha! Seldom a one-night stand. My hand is my companion and it never fails to satisfy. To tell the truth, I don’t know where I’m at on that issue. Let’s cut the chitchat. I need your help with something.”

“Heh, if something is bothering you, I’m here for you, buddy.”

“It’s probably nothing serious. Just a prankster.”

“Prankster! Doing what? Could I have one of those,” he said, pointing to my drink.

“Of course. Take a seat on the couch while I fix it.”

Brad listened attentively as I told him about the multiple mysterious phone calls at the street telephone booth, and how upset they were making me. He pensively ran his index finger around the rim of his cocktail glass, and then looked at me.

“I can understand your concern,” he said. “I would really be pissed if that were happening to me. Perhaps you unwittingly offended someone, and now, in a petty way, is trying to even the score. Does anyone come to mind?”

“Although I am not religious, to paraphrase a biblical scripture, I believe in treating others the way I would want to be treated. So even if I might not like someone, I am careful what I say to him or her. I’m telling you all of this because I think you might be able to help me discover who is doing this to me.”

“Me! I can’t imagine how I might be of help, but let’s hear it.”

“Okay, Brad. You are a freelance journalist and could adjust your schedule to give me just a few moments of your time when I get off work. If you were to buy a newspaper at the corner that my workplace is on, and then casually lean against the wall of my building near the sidewalk telephone booth and pretend to be reading the paper. As I approached the telephone booth and the phone rang, you could casually glance around the entire area, buildings included, and watch for anyone who might be watching me and holding a telephone to their ear. Would you be willing to do that?” I asked.

“I’ll be glad to, Kerry. If I do notice someone doing that and tell you, what will you do about it?”

“It all depends on the description of the person that you describe to me if you’re lucky enough to see such a person,” I said, and shrugged.

“When do you want me to do this?”

“Tomorrow at five minutes before five. That will give you a few minutes to casually glance around before I leave my office building and approach the phone booth. Is that okay?” I asked.

“I’ll be there,” Brad said. “It’s late, and I need to get back home and write some more and then grab some winks.”

“No time for another drink?” I asked.

“Sounds tempting, but maybe another time this weekend.”

We said our “Goodbyes”, and when I closed the door, I felt a little more optimistic. Although the chance of success of the plan was slim at best, at least it was better than nothing. Then I began to wonder about the nature of my harasser. I had absolutely no clue. Was he or she someone out of the past that I had offended who simple wanted to harass me to get even as Brad suggested, or was the person a serious nut case who would pick a person at random and stop at nothing including murder after taunting me like a cat amuses itself with an injured mouse before finally killing it. The thought sent chills down my spine. The only thing that was certain was the fact that the person had to have sometime entered the phone booth and written down the phone number of that phone, and then picked a victim for whatever reason. At any rate, I was thinking too much in advance. Brad might not see who was using a phone, and the harassment might even have run it’s course. Hell, I wasn’t even sure that I was being harassed. I suppose stranger things have happened serendipitously without ill intent.

The next morning, being Friday, I dressed exactly as I did Thursday so that the harasser could easily pick me out among the throng of foot traffic on the busy sidewalk. At ten minutes before quitting time, I wondered if Brad would be at his designated station as planned. When I exited the building, I immediately looked for him. He was leaning against the side of the building on the other side of the phone booth, holding a newspaper. As per usual, the phone began to ring as I approached. Brad quickly scanned the area, then his eyes froze on the building across the street that housed disabled veterans. I walked past him as if he weren’t there. When I turned to enter my apartment building, I looked back and saw Brad walking quickly toward me, so I stopped and waited.

“Enter the foyer and wait!” he said briskly as he passed and walked on down the sidewalk.

I didn’t understand why, but did as directed. Moments later, Brad turned and entered my building’s foyer ahead of me. He looked excited.

“I may have seen something important,” he said when I caught up. “Let’s go up to your apartment. I walked on by so that the person in question would not suspect a connection between you and me,” he said on the elevator.

“Good thinking. So, you spotted a person using a cell phone?”

“No, a regular phone. The face looked white as snow. Scary stuff.”

The elevator door opened on my floor and we entered my apartment.

“Where was this at?” I asked.

“I was watching sidewalk traffic when something else caught my eye. I counted the floors up and across to the right on that disabled veteran’s building across from where you work. Second floor, third window to the right. Because that was once a hotel called The Royal, that would be the third apartment to the right. What are you going to do, Kerry?”

“Don’t know yet. But you would make one hell of a good detective. Thanks for helping me, Brad,” I said, and winked. “When I walked on and the phone stopped ringing, did the person put down the phone?”

“Immediately. Then he…I guess it was a he, backed away and let the curtains close. I think we now know where the harasser lives. If you’re going to confront the person, let me know when, and I’ll go with you.”

“There’s no need for you to get further involved. Because I work out and am well muscled, I can take care of myself. By the way, because the building is for veterans, I think that most likely rules out females. Would you like a drink?”

“Thanks, Kerry, but I need to get home and finish what I was writing.”

“Again, Brad, thanks for your time, your ear and willingness to help.”

“Glad to do it. Be really careful, Kerry.”

“I will. I’ll let you know what happened.”

Brad left, and I fixed a drink for myself to relax, and then plopped down on the couch and crossed my ankles on the coffee table. It was a relief to know that some progress had been made in finding out the location of the likely harasser. But now I was faced with the question of how to confront the man. Is he a weight lifter who is even stronger than me and could snap my neck with one hard twist? I wondered. Is he a severely mentally ill victim of the Iraq war who might be unpredictable and potentially very dangerous? Those were just two of numerous scenarios that I could think of, and neither one were good. I needed a plan.

After a cigarette and half of my drink I had conjured a plan. But because the harassment only happened when I left my job and passed by the sidewalk phone booth, and because this was Friday, it might have to wait until Monday to carry out. That gave me the entire weekend to refine my plan.

Garret startled me Monday afternoon when he said,

“Kerry, it’s three minutes past five, time to call it a day.”

“Oh. Thanks for reminding me,” I said.. “Don’t wait for me. I’ll see you Monday on coffee break. Have a good evening,”

This was it. I pulled up my pants leg to see if the butcher knife was still firmly strapped to my calf, then I headed for the elevator. When I reached the sidewalk and headed home, the telephone rang as usual. I ignored it and kept walking. At the intersection, I turned left and crossed Jenkins Ave., the street that ran in front of my work place. On the other side I turned left again and walked close to the park and the wall of the veterans’ building so that it would be harder for the harasser to see me walk beneath his window on the second floor. I entered the foyer of the veteran’s building and tried the inside door. It was not locked. I walked up the steps in the dingy hallway to the second floor, and then turned right and looked for the door to the third apartment. When I saw it, I took a deep breath and timidly knocked. Nothing happened, so I knocked harder.

“Who is it?” a male voice yelled.

“The mail man delivered a letter to this apartment, but got mixed up and put it got in my mailbox,” I said, noting that my voice sounded a bit shaky. I hate lying.

“Slip it under the door,” a soft voice said.

“It’s kind of thick. If the door is unlocked, I’ll open it and toss it in.”

“It’s not locked,” he said.

With a lot of trepidation, I turned the knob and flung the door wide open and stepped inside quickly and shut the door. I stood tense and ready to quickly reach down and grab the butcher knife if that became necessary.

“Oh Jesus…it’s you! Go away!” he said, but I couldn’t see where he was. There was a franticness in his voice and he sounded frightened. No lights were on and the drapes were drawn shut, but they didn’t shut out all of the light. My eyes began to adjust, and what stood out in the dimness of the room was a white mask. I noted that it was a partial mask like the one worn in the movie, The Phantom Of The Opera. I also remembered that Brad mentioned that the face in the window was as white as snow.

“I will not go away until I find out why you are stalking me with that fucking street phone!” I spat out angrily. “Who in the fucking hell are you? Why are you doing this?”

“You don’t really want to know,” he said, sounding quite unstable. “I think you should leave now. Really! I promise not to do it again!”

“I will not leave until I find out who you are and why you’re stalking me. Why are you wearing that mask?”

“Please leave, Kerry.” he said in a weak and frightened voice.

“Kerry! So, you know my name? Turn on a light right now and take off that damn mask!” I demanded. “If you know me, then I probably know you. You sound scared. I mean you know harm if you’ll stop harassing me. Take off that mask, and do it right now!”

“No!”

“Then I’ll take it off for you!” I threatened.

He didn’t respond, and I gave him some time to decide on his own.

“You won’t like what you see,” he warned.

“Let me be the judge of that,” I said, wondering what in the hell I had gotten into.

I lurched toward the lamp on the side table beside his chair and switched it on. He twisted away from me in the chair and held his arm across his face. I was livid. I grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. Then I grabbed his wrist and pulled his arm away.

“Stop, Kerry…please stop! I’ll remove the mask,” he said.

He sounded as if he were about to cry. He slowly removed the mask, and I was deeply shocked at what I saw. The right side of his face was a mass of pinkish-red scars and bumps. Even his upper eyelid was slightly scarredand no lashes grew there.

“Oh my God!” I exclaimed. “Monte! Montgomery Kayliff! What in the hell happened to you?”

“Iraq. A fucking roadside bomb. Now I’m ruined for life.”

“I’m so sorry, Monte,” I said, feeling a surge of guilt. “But I still don’t understand why you were calling me at the phone booth.”

“I wanted to see you again, but only from up here. I didn’t expect you to find me and see my condition. I had a crush on you in high school, remember?”

“No, not really. I knew you liked me, but I didn’t know that you had a crush on me. And I thought you were, if you’ll pardon my terminology…beautiful,” I said softly.

“Beautiful! That’s not what a straight man calls another man.”

“I’m not straight, Monte. I didn’t admit it to myself until a year after graduation. If I knew in school what I know now, I’d have tried for a clandestine affair with you. As I think back, I think that I was actually in love with you too and didn’t know it,” I said. “We’re the same age, so maybe we could start over and give love a try.”

“No way! I won’t allow someone I care for to be tied down to a man with a ravaged face like mine. I can‘t even believe that you‘re suggesting it. Fate can be cruel. You should leave and forget about me. Please go, Kerry.”

I felt hopelessly disarmed. I sat down on the floor beside Monte and grasped his hand. I wanted to reassure him, but didn’t know how. He started to put on his mask, but I ripped it from his hand and flung it across the room, and then I rose to my knees facing him.

“You don’t need that thing on in front of me, Monte,” I said. “I know who you are inside. What you need to do is to get out of this rat hole apartment with your mask on and learn to ignore unkind stares. You earned the right to walk freely and proud among people by fighting for your country, although the war should never have taken place. Don‘t you ever get out of this apartment?”

“Only at night, and only when I desperately need new clothes. This military graveyard provides a cafeteria and the food is not too bad. So I never eat out.”

I pondered what to do. It had now become my goal to help my dear friend to rehabilitate and enjoy life.

“I have an idea,” I said. “Is your face the only place you are injured?”

“Fortunately, yes.”

“Good! You and I are going to get out of this dingy room and go to a place I like several miles away from the city.”

“I will not go out in public during the day!”

“You won’t have to, Monte,” I said smiling. “I’m leaving now, but I’ll be back after dark for you. I think you’ll like where I’m taking you, and I won’t take no for an answer. I’ll be back at nine O’clock. See you then.”

“Do you mean it, Kerry?”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean. Be ready, and that’s an order!”

I patted Monte on the shoulder and walked out the door and quietly closed it behind me. I trotted down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk. I thought to look up. Monte had his mask on and was hanging out the open window. I waved, and he waved back. As I walked back to my apartment, I felt better than I had in a long time. When inside, I took the butcher knife off of my calf and grimaced when the tape holding it on pulled out hairs. I certainly didn’t want Monte to see that.

At ten to nine I parked as close as I could to the entrance of the veterans’ rehabilitation building and quickly went in. I didn’t bother to knock. Monte seemed shocked to see me.

“You did come back!” he said. “I didn’t think you would!”

“Well, you were wrong.. Let’s go, Monte.”

When we reached the sidewalk, I pointed to my car.

“Wow! A Mercedes sports convertible!” Monte said jubilantly.

“Get in and let’s get going, man,” I said with a chuckle. “It’s rather warm tonight, so I put the top down.”

“This is a real treat, Kerry. But I can’t believe you’d want to be seen with a freak.”

“Stop that! I don’t ever want to hear you say that again…ever!” I almost yelled. “Anyway, we’re going out of the city and won’t be around people, so just relax and enjoy.”

“You’re even nicer than I remembered, Kerry,” he said, and I felt the warmth of a blush.

I was a bit too embarrassed to respond. I just headed out of the city a little over the speed limit. Monte scooted down in the seat, presumably to be less visible to anyone on the sidewalks or in cars. When we reached the countryside, I told Monte to take of his mask. Surprisingly, he didn’t resist, but he wouldn’t turn his injured side enough for me to see it. I watched him smile as the wind whipped his hair about. Around thirty miles later, I left the highway and turned onto a gravel road that snaked around in a decline between wooded hills. I slowed and turned onto the side of the road a few feet from an old bridge, and then turned out the lights. He looked at me inquisitively, but I knew what I was doing.

“Let’s go, Monte,” I said enthusiastically.

“Go where?” he asked, looking around and looking puzzled.

“Don’t ask. Let it be a surprise,” I said. “And leave that damn mask under the seat.”

“No, Kerry. I don’t want to turn you off.”

“I already saw the scars. Please, Monte…, take it off.”

Reluctantly, he did, and we crossed the ditch and made our way between the tree-line and a corn field. About a hundred yards from the road, I forced weeds down ahead of us and was soon standing on an old wooden homemade platform the farmer had built to fish off of. Monte looked in awe at the quiet slow moving stream and the beautiful picturesque setting. I knew in advance that there would be a full moon that night, and it was shinning brilliantly through the top branches of trees growing on the other side or the stream.

“This is really nice, Kerry. Thank you for bringing me here.”

“I’m glad you like it as much as I do,” I said. “Come here.”

“Huh?”

“Hush, Monte,” I whispered.

I put my arms around Monte with my cheek beside his un-scarred cheek. Then he put his arms around me. For a long while we just stood holding each other and listening to the frogs and the rattle of cottonwood leaves in the gentle breeze. A Great Horned Owl hooted somewhere in the distance. It was marvelously serine. I broke our embrace and began unbuttoning Monte’s shirt.

“What are you doing?” he ask.

“Do I have to spell it out?” I said. “Do you like to dance?”

“Ha! I wouldn’t know my right foot from my left.”

“We’ll just sway back and forth while we take a few easy steps in the buff,” I said.

“In the buff! Naked?”

“You heard me. Finish undressing while I do the same.”

“What if somebody comes?” he asked.

“Will you stop worrying, Monte? No one is going to come here to fish or swim at night…except us.”

“We’re going to swim too? I love swimming, but haven’t done it for years.”

“Well, now’s your chance. I’m nearly undressed. Hurry up,” I urged.

The cool breeze made our bodies feel warm where we touched. It felt good to hold someone again that I once had some feelings for that even I had not yet understood and acknowledged. Time had not stolen that. I just regret that we didn‘t acknowledge and acted upon our feelings when we were in high school. Without breaking our hug, Monte leaned his head back and stared into my eyes. Then he smiled and spoke.

“You know, Kerry, I never missed a football game back in school, just so I could see your beautiful muscular body in those white satin bottoms with the lace over the crotch as if it were keeping your manhood under control, but I never dreamed I would see you nude other than in the school showers. I’m afraid I’m loosing control down there right now.”

“I can feel it…, mine too,” I said, and gave his butt a gentle slap. “Maybe we should go for a swim or just sit on the dock with our legs hanging over and talk for a while. That should calm our joy sticks down. We can take care of them later in my apartment.”

“Are you serious, Kerry?”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t say things I don’t mean?”

We sat down as I suggested with my arm around Monte’s shoulders. He made sure to sit to my right so that I would be looking at the un-scarred side of his face. Because he didn’t get out much and was not exposed to the sun, and because the moon’s light was cool and made light colored things look a little blue, his entire body looked almost chalky white. He put his hand on my thigh, and I grasped it so that he wouldn’t go further and fondle my cock. I knew that if he did, there would be no stopping either of us. And even though it would be romantic to make love in the moonlight in this beautiful setting, I much preferred the comfort and privacy of my bed.

“You’re very handsome, Kerry,” he said. “There must be someone else you’re romantically involved with?”

“There was once, but no longer is. After nineteen months of trying to make it work, we basically broke up because both of us preferred being the one who did the fucking.”

“That wouldn’t be a problem for me,” he said. “I like it that way. I haven’t had sex in so long that I almost forgot how it feels.”

That did it for me. I wanted to make love as soon as possible.

“Then let’s don’t swim.” I said anxiously. “We can come back and swim tomorrow night. The moon will still be mostly full. We’ll get dressed now and go to my apartment. Hurry up, Monte,” I said, and then kissed him on the lips. They had not been disfigured with scars and were sot and full and obviously needy.

We each had a drink before going to the bedroom where we had sex twice, after which Monte fell asleep in my arms. I lie awake thinking about how sweet and loving he was and how innocent he seemed for his age. I accredited his innocence to being shut up in that awful room and not getting out and about for so long. I was convinced that Monte’s innocence was what I loved most about him, and that he was the type of man that I wanted to spend my life with. And anyone who did what he did just to get a longer glimpse of me pausing at that telephone booth, had to love me as well. So I started planning. My income was far more than adequate to support both of us in style, so Monte would never have to work and suffer embarrassment from fellow workers. Tuesday morning I called in sick, and Monte wore his mask as we loaded what little clothing and personal items he had into the trunk of the car, and Monte left the veteran‘s building forever. I never would allow him to wear the mask when we were alone in the apartment. And now when I leave work and pass the mute phone on my way home to a gourmet meal cooked by my lover, I look at the empty phone booth and smile warmly. Ironically, it was the instrument which brought us together.

The End

 

Disclaimer: The following unique story is strictly a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons or events – past or present – is purely coincidental.
The author claims all copyrights to this story, and no duplication, excerpts, or publication is permitted without written consent of the author.

NOTE:

Published author of “Intimacy Between Men”…a collection of fifteen short stories.

Behind The Mask

I was beginning to feel paranoid every work day at quitting time. The thing that was happening seemed perfectly harmless and coincidental the first time, but after three consecutive occurrences, I was beginning to feel like it was personally directed toward me. It would happen once I reached the sidewalk in front of the high rise commercial building where I worked, and began walking to my apartment or toward a small Greek restaurant where I frequently ate before going home to an apartment building a few blocks away. Will it happen again, I wondered? It was nearly quitting time, so I would soon find out.

Garret, a fellow worker, waited while I straightened a stack of papers and turned off my desk light. Then we walked to the elevator together.

“What’s with the concerned look, Kelly?” he asked while we waited for an elevator.

“Do I look concerned?” I asked, not wanting to look silly from Garret’s viewpoint. “Probably just stress from work. Nothing a strong drink can’t heal. The elevator has arrived,” I said to stop the unwelcome questions. Truthfully, I was a bit concerned. But if I had told Garret why, he probably would have laughed.

“Maybe you just need to get laid,” he said. “Julie has a hot sister about your age. Would you like me to fix you up with her? I think I can.”

Anything said that might expose my sexual orientation to my fellow workers other than Garrett was something I didn’t want to talk about in the elevator that had mostly people from our place of work riding down with us, so I frowned and did not respond to his suggestion until we got out at the ground floor. Then I grabbed the sleeve of his shirt and gently pulled him to the side and stopped. .

“As to your straight date suggestion, Garrett, no way! I already told you in the strictest confidence that I don’t swing that way. I’m attracted to men only…never women, and that’s something that just doesn’t change. I know that you meant well, but forget it, Garret.”

“Well, you never mention a new flame in your league, so I thought you’d like to try my league. Sorry, Kelly, I won’t mention that again.”

“That, I would appreciate. Now I want to get out of here and home.”

“Yeah, friend, me too,” Garrett said and shot me a thumbs up as we headed toward the building exit.

Although Garrett is a hetero, he is a true friend and about my only close connection to the straight community. We bid each other “Good evening” at the revolving doors of the entrance to the insurance company where we work and where I am a high paid second level executive. When I exited the building, I was immediately assaulted by the steamy heat of early August and the unwelcome sound of tires hissing on the hot asphalt and the occasional honk of an impatient driver. The stench of the heated asphalt mixed with that of car exhaust, sweaty armpits and a potpourri of other unpleasant odors that define a big city. The apartment building where I lived was only two blocks from the office, so there was no need to drive my Mercedes coupe to work. Within fifteen feet of the revolving doors, I had taken off my wine colored blazer, loosened my silver-on-black paisley tie, unfastened the top two buttons of my plain white shirt and hooked a finger under the collar of my coat and draped it over my shoulder. About ten feet ahead, I saw the object of my concern…an outdoor, sidewalk telephone booth. As I approached it, I eyed it with suspicion. The other three times, it started ringing as I approached and kept ringing as soon as I walked on. The pattern was consistent. I was now both angry and leery.

The first time it happened, it didn’t seem unusual. You know, person A says to person B, “You know that sidewalk phone by the big insurance building on Jenkins Ave? When I find out if the deal went through, I’ll call you at that phone. It’s convenient for you, so be there at five past five PM.” The explanation for the phone ringing when I walked by at that time might be just that simple, so I had paid it no heed at all. The second time, I stopped and looked around to see if a person might be waiting for someone to call at that particular time, but I only saw hordes of people scurrying in both directions on their way home from work or perhaps shopping. So I shrugged and walked on. The third time it happened, I was pissed off and kept walking as if it had never happened. And now it was happening again. I looked all around first, and then entered the booth and picked up the receiver.

“Hello,” I said in as neutral a tone as I could manage, considering the circumstances. But no one answered, nor did they hang up. That really raised my hackles.

“I don’t know who in the hell you are, but I want this harassment crap to stop! Somewhere out there you are watching me. If I find out where you are, you‘ll sure as hell regret this bullshit! Stop…it!”

Then I slammed down the receiver and turned around and again looked to see if someone near by might be waiting for a call at that booth, but hadn’t heard the phone ring. As before, no one was. By this time, I was feeling as if I was being stalked for some unknown reason, and I was furious. To be honest, I was fearful too. These days, you never know what’s out there. I looked behind me before walking on at a hurried pace, and crossed the intersection. The entrance to my building was a mere twenty feet from the corner. I looked both ways again before entering the foyer. I got the mail and made sure no one was about to enter the foyer and then quickly catch the security door from shutting after I had gone through it. Luckily, no one was. Three people that I recognized as fellow tenants were waiting for the elevator to come down.

When I got on the elevator I punched nineteen and made room for others. A smile or a nod is sufficient acknowledgement in that situation. When I entered my apartment, I tossed my coat over a chair and immediately mixed a dry martini. Then I went to the huge waist-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall panels of heavy window glass and opened the chocolate- brown drapes, thinking that the stalker might be on the opposite sidewalk scanning the building and wondering which apartment I lived in, if he or she didn’t already know. Light flooded in from the east. I looked down upon a vacant lot where a condemned apartment building had once stood. Six kids were kicking around a soccer ball. I thought of how simple and carefree life was for most kids. To the right of the vacant lot was an auto parts business. To the left of the park was an antiquated plain brick former hotel that had gone out of business a few years ago and had been turned into a government sponsored facility to support war veterans who where for one reason or another unable to find work, and therefore financial indigents. It was about as contrasting to my high rise luxury apartment and my affluent lifestyle as I could imagine. I pitied those tenants. On the only park bench, a couple sat; he with his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as they kissed. It made me feel envious and lonely. I desperately wanted to love and be loved, and that is one thing that money can’t buy.

I put on a CD to distract me from my thoughts about the mysterious calls at the telephone booth. While the music played, I worked a newspaper crossword puzzle until it was finished. Then I got up and went to my bar to fix another drink, but changed my mind.

I needed to be around people or with someone in particular. I immediately thought of my ex-lover, Brad Duncan. We hadn’t broken up because we no longer loved each other; we just weren’t compatible enough in the sack. Oral sex had become beyond boring, and both of us preferred to be pitchers rather than catchers. Another less obvious reason that contributed to our disenchantment with each other was the fact that Brad liked partying with his many friends, and I didn’t. Conversations about “Who do you think will be crowned Mister Leather this year”, or gossip like, “Guess what couple broke up over a hot little cheeky nineteen year old with a huge banana”, I found boring and immature. I must confess that I’m categorically a prude and overly particular. And perhaps being age thirty-two, I had convinced myself that I was just too old for the bar scene where youth rules the night.

Because our nineteen month love affair had broken off cordially, we had remained good friends. I decided to call him and talk. After five rings, he answered.

“Hi Brad…its Kerry. I need to talk to you about something serious that’s happening to me. It seems I’m being stalked. Would you please come over here?”

“Serious, huh? Is he cute? Never mind, Kerry, I’ll be there in less than ten minutes,” he said. “Bye.”

I checked to make sure that I had plenty of ice for drinks, then lit a cigarette and went to the window and looked down. The daylight was dimming, and I looked up and saw a dark cloud slithering over the top of my building, thus explaining the early darkness. Row after row of street lights untimely came on all at once. Only an extremely dense storm could block out that much light. I jumped when I heard a knock at the door. I had forgotten that Brad still had a key to the apartment that was now mine. But we wanted it that way in case one of us got ill or something, and I had a key to his pad too.

“It’s unlocked!” I said loudly.

Brad entered and closed the door.

“Hi…what cha been do’n?” he said in his usual and intended slang.

“Not much,” I said.

“How’s your love life?”

“Ha! Seldom a one-night stand. My hand is my companion and it never fails to satisfy. To tell the truth, I don’t know where I’m at on that issue. Let’s cut the chitchat. I need your help with something.”

“Heh, if something is bothering you, I’m here for you, buddy.”

“It’s probably nothing serious. Just a prankster.”

“Prankster! Doing what? Could I have one of those,” he said, pointing to my drink.

“Of course. Take a seat on the couch while I fix it.”

Brad listened attentively as I told him about the multiple mysterious phone calls at the street telephone booth, and how upset they were making me. He pensively ran his index finger around the rim of his cocktail glass, and then looked at me.

“I can understand your concern,” he said. “I would really be pissed if that were happening to me. Perhaps you unwittingly offended someone, and now, in a petty way, is trying to even the score. Does anyone come to mind?”

“Although I am not religious, to paraphrase a biblical scripture, I believe in treating others the way I would want to be treated. So even if I might not like someone, I am careful what I say to him or her. I’m telling you all of this because I think you might be able to help me discover who is doing this to me.”

“Me! I can’t imagine how I might be of help, but let’s hear it.”

“Okay, Brad. You are a freelance journalist and could adjust your schedule to give me just a few moments of your time when I get off work. If you were to buy a newspaper at the corner that my workplace is on, and then casually lean against the wall of my building near the sidewalk telephone booth and pretend to be reading the paper. As I approached the telephone booth and the phone rang, you could casually glance around the entire area, buildings included, and watch for anyone who might be watching me and holding a telephone to their ear. Would you be willing to do that?” I asked.

“I’ll be glad to, Kerry. If I do notice someone doing that and tell you, what will you do about it?”

“It all depends on the description of the person that you describe to me if you’re lucky enough to see such a person,” I said, and shrugged.

“When do you want me to do this?”

“Tomorrow at five minutes before five. That will give you a few minutes to casually glance around before I leave my office building and approach the phone booth. Is that okay?” I asked.

“I’ll be there,” Brad said. “It’s late, and I need to get back home and write some more and then grab some winks.”

“No time for another drink?” I asked.

“Sounds tempting, but maybe another time this weekend.”

We said our “Goodbyes”, and when I closed the door, I felt a little more optimistic. Although the chance of success of the plan was slim at best, at least it was better than nothing. Then I began to wonder about the nature of my harasser. I had absolutely no clue. Was he or she someone out of the past that I had offended who simple wanted to harass me to get even as Brad suggested, or was the person a serious nut case who would pick a person at random and stop at nothing including murder after taunting me like a cat amuses itself with an injured mouse before finally killing it. The thought sent chills down my spine. The only thing that was certain was the fact that the person had to have sometime entered the phone booth and written down the phone number of that phone, and then picked a victim for whatever reason. At any rate, I was thinking too much in advance. Brad might not see who was using a phone, and the harassment might even have run it’s course. Hell, I wasn’t even sure that I was being harassed. I suppose stranger things have happened serendipitously without ill intent.

The next morning, being Friday, I dressed exactly as I did Thursday so that the harasser could easily pick me out among the throng of foot traffic on the busy sidewalk. At ten minutes before quitting time, I wondered if Brad would be at his designated station as planned. When I exited the building, I immediately looked for him. He was leaning against the side of the building on the other side of the phone booth, holding a newspaper. As per usual, the phone began to ring as I approached. Brad quickly scanned the area, then his eyes froze on the building across the street that housed disabled veterans. I walked past him as if he weren’t there. When I turned to enter my apartment building, I looked back and saw Brad walking quickly toward me, so I stopped and waited.

“Enter the foyer and wait!” he said briskly as he passed and walked on down the sidewalk.

I didn’t understand why, but did as directed. Moments later, Brad turned and entered my building’s foyer ahead of me. He looked excited.

“I may have seen something important,” he said when I caught up. “Let’s go up to your apartment. I walked on by so that the person in question would not suspect a connection between you and me,” he said on the elevator.

“Good thinking. So, you spotted a person using a cell phone?”

“No, a regular phone. The face looked white as snow. Scary stuff.”

The elevator door opened on my floor and we entered my apartment.

“Where was this at?” I asked.

“I was watching sidewalk traffic when something else caught my eye. I counted the floors up and across to the right on that disabled veteran’s building across from where you work. Second floor, third window to the right. Because that was once a hotel called The Royal, that would be the third apartment to the right. What are you going to do, Kerry?”

“Don’t know yet. But you would make one hell of a good detective. Thanks for helping me, Brad,” I said, and winked. “When I walked on and the phone stopped ringing, did the person put down the phone?”

“Immediately. Then he…I guess it was a he, backed away and let the curtains close. I think we now know where the harasser lives. If you’re going to confront the person, let me know when, and I’ll go with you.”

“There’s no need for you to get further involved. Because I work out and am well muscled, I can take care of myself. By the way, because the building is for veterans, I think that most likely rules out females. Would you like a drink?”

“Thanks, Kerry, but I need to get home and finish what I was writing.”

“Again, Brad, thanks for your time, your ear and willingness to help.”

“Glad to do it. Be really careful, Kerry.”

“I will. I’ll let you know what happened.”

Brad left, and I fixed a drink for myself to relax, and then plopped down on the couch and crossed my ankles on the coffee table. It was a relief to know that some progress had been made in finding out the location of the likely harasser. But now I was faced with the question of how to confront the man. Is he a weight lifter who is even stronger than me and could snap my neck with one hard twist? I wondered. Is he a severely mentally ill victim of the Iraq war who might be unpredictable and potentially very dangerous? Those were just two of numerous scenarios that I could think of, and neither one were good. I needed a plan.

After a cigarette and half of my drink I had conjured a plan. But because the harassment only happened when I left my job and passed by the sidewalk phone booth, and because this was Friday, it might have to wait until Monday to carry out. That gave me the entire weekend to refine my plan.

Garret startled me Monday afternoon when he said,

“Kerry, it’s three minutes past five, time to call it a day.”

“Oh. Thanks for reminding me,” I said.. “Don’t wait for me. I’ll see you Monday on coffee break. Have a good evening,”

This was it. I pulled up my pants leg to see if the butcher knife was still firmly strapped to my calf, then I headed for the elevator. When I reached the sidewalk and headed home, the telephone rang as usual. I ignored it and kept walking. At the intersection, I turned left and crossed Jenkins Ave., the street that ran in front of my work place. On the other side I turned left again and walked close to the park and the wall of the veterans’ building so that it would be harder for the harasser to see me walk beneath his window on the second floor. I entered the foyer of the veteran’s building and tried the inside door. It was not locked. I walked up the steps in the dingy hallway to the second floor, and then turned right and looked for the door to the third apartment. When I saw it, I took a deep breath and timidly knocked. Nothing happened, so I knocked harder.

“Who is it?” a male voice yelled.

“The mail man delivered a letter to this apartment, but got mixed up and put it got in my mailbox,” I said, noting that my voice sounded a bit shaky. I hate lying.

“Slip it under the door,” a soft voice said.

“It’s kind of thick. If the door is unlocked, I’ll open it and toss it in.”

“It’s not locked,” he said.

With a lot of trepidation, I turned the knob and flung the door wide open and stepped inside quickly and shut the door. I stood tense and ready to quickly reach down and grab the butcher knife if that became necessary.

“Oh Jesus…it’s you! Go away!” he said, but I couldn’t see where he was. There was a franticness in his voice and he sounded frightened. No lights were on and the drapes were drawn shut, but they didn’t shut out all of the light. My eyes began to adjust, and what stood out in the dimness of the room was a white mask. I noted that it was a partial mask like the one worn in the movie, The Phantom Of The Opera. I also remembered that Brad mentioned that the face in the window was as white as snow.

“I will not go away until I find out why you are stalking me with that fucking street phone!” I spat out angrily. “Who in the fucking hell are you? Why are you doing this?”

“You don’t really want to know,” he said, sounding quite unstable. “I think you should leave now. Really! I promise not to do it again!”

“I will not leave until I find out who you are and why you’re stalking me. Why are you wearing that mask?”

“Please leave, Kerry.” he said in a weak and frightened voice.

“Kerry! So, you know my name? Turn on a light right now and take off that damn mask!” I demanded. “If you know me, then I probably know you. You sound scared. I mean you know harm if you’ll stop harassing me. Take off that mask, and do it right now!”

“No!”

“Then I’ll take it off for you!” I threatened.

He didn’t respond, and I gave him some time to decide on his own.

“You won’t like what you see,” he warned.

“Let me be the judge of that,” I said, wondering what in the hell I had gotten into.

I lurched toward the lamp on the side table beside his chair and switched it on. He twisted away from me in the chair and held his arm across his face. I was livid. I grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. Then I grabbed his wrist and pulled his arm away.

“Stop, Kerry…please stop! I’ll remove the mask,” he said.

He sounded as if he were about to cry. He slowly removed the mask, and I was deeply shocked at what I saw. The right side of his face was a mass of pinkish-red scars and bumps. Even his upper eyelid was slightly scarredand no lashes grew there.

“Oh my God!” I exclaimed. “Monte! Montgomery Kayliff! What in the hell happened to you?”

“Iraq. A fucking roadside bomb. Now I’m ruined for life.”

“I’m so sorry, Monte,” I said, feeling a surge of guilt. “But I still don’t understand why you were calling me at the phone booth.”

“I wanted to see you again, but only from up here. I didn’t expect you to find me and see my condition. I had a crush on you in high school, remember?”

“No, not really. I knew you liked me, but I didn’t know that you had a crush on me. And I thought you were, if you’ll pardon my terminology…beautiful,” I said softly.

“Beautiful! That’s not what a straight man calls another man.”

“I’m not straight, Monte. I didn’t admit it to myself until a year after graduation. If I knew in school what I know now, I’d have tried for a clandestine affair with you. As I think back, I think that I was actually in love with you too and didn’t know it,” I said. “We’re the same age, so maybe we could start over and give love a try.”

“No way! I won’t allow someone I care for to be tied down to a man with a ravaged face like mine. I can‘t even believe that you‘re suggesting it. Fate can be cruel. You should leave and forget about me. Please go, Kerry.”

I felt hopelessly disarmed. I sat down on the floor beside Monte and grasped his hand. I wanted to reassure him, but didn’t know how. He started to put on his mask, but I ripped it from his hand and flung it across the room, and then I rose to my knees facing him.

“You don’t need that thing on in front of me, Monte,” I said. “I know who you are inside. What you need to do is to get out of this rat hole apartment with your mask on and learn to ignore unkind stares. You earned the right to walk freely and proud among people by fighting for your country, although the war should never have taken place. Don‘t you ever get out of this apartment?”

“Only at night, and only when I desperately need new clothes. This military graveyard provides a cafeteria and the food is not too bad. So I never eat out.”

I pondered what to do. It had now become my goal to help my dear friend to rehabilitate and enjoy life.

“I have an idea,” I said. “Is your face the only place you are injured?”

“Fortunately, yes.”

“Good! You and I are going to get out of this dingy room and go to a place I like several miles away from the city.”

“I will not go out in public during the day!”

“You won’t have to, Monte,” I said smiling. “I’m leaving now, but I’ll be back after dark for you. I think you’ll like where I’m taking you, and I won’t take no for an answer. I’ll be back at nine O’clock. See you then.”

“Do you mean it, Kerry?”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean. Be ready, and that’s an order!”

I patted Monte on the shoulder and walked out the door and quietly closed it behind me. I trotted down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk. I thought to look up. Monte had his mask on and was hanging out the open window. I waved, and he waved back. As I walked back to my apartment, I felt better than I had in a long time. When inside, I took the butcher knife off of my calf and grimaced when the tape holding it on pulled out hairs. I certainly didn’t want Monte to see that.

At ten to nine I parked as close as I could to the entrance of the veterans’ rehabilitation building and quickly went in. I didn’t bother to knock. Monte seemed shocked to see me.

“You did come back!” he said. “I didn’t think you would!”

“Well, you were wrong.. Let’s go, Monte.”

When we reached the sidewalk, I pointed to my car.

“Wow! A Mercedes sports convertible!” Monte said jubilantly.

“Get in and let’s get going, man,” I said with a chuckle. “It’s rather warm tonight, so I put the top down.”

“This is a real treat, Kerry. But I can’t believe you’d want to be seen with a freak.”

“Stop that! I don’t ever want to hear you say that again…ever!” I almost yelled. “Anyway, we’re going out of the city and won’t be around people, so just relax and enjoy.”

“You’re even nicer than I remembered, Kerry,” he said, and I felt the warmth of a blush.

I was a bit too embarrassed to respond. I just headed out of the city a little over the speed limit. Monte scooted down in the seat, presumably to be less visible to anyone on the sidewalks or in cars. When we reached the countryside, I told Monte to take of his mask. Surprisingly, he didn’t resist, but he wouldn’t turn his injured side enough for me to see it. I watched him smile as the wind whipped his hair about. Around thirty miles later, I left the highway and turned onto a gravel road that snaked around in a decline between wooded hills. I slowed and turned onto the side of the road a few feet from an old bridge, and then turned out the lights. He looked at me inquisitively, but I knew what I was doing.

“Let’s go, Monte,” I said enthusiastically.

“Go where?” he asked, looking around and looking puzzled.

“Don’t ask. Let it be a surprise,” I said. “And leave that damn mask under the seat.”

“No, Kerry. I don’t want to turn you off.”

“I already saw the scars. Please, Monte…, take it off.”

Reluctantly, he did, and we crossed the ditch and made our way between the tree-line and a corn field. About a hundred yards from the road, I forced weeds down ahead of us and was soon standing on an old wooden homemade platform the farmer had built to fish off of. Monte looked in awe at the quiet slow moving stream and the beautiful picturesque setting. I knew in advance that there would be a full moon that night, and it was shinning brilliantly through the top branches of trees growing on the other side or the stream.

“This is really nice, Kerry. Thank you for bringing me here.”

“I’m glad you like it as much as I do,” I said. “Come here.”

“Huh?”

“Hush, Monte,” I whispered.

I put my arms around Monte with my cheek beside his un-scarred cheek. Then he put his arms around me. For a long while we just stood holding each other and listening to the frogs and the rattle of cottonwood leaves in the gentle breeze. A Great Horned Owl hooted somewhere in the distance. It was marvelously serine. I broke our embrace and began unbuttoning Monte’s shirt.

“What are you doing?” he ask.

“Do I have to spell it out?” I said. “Do you like to dance?”

“Ha! I wouldn’t know my right foot from my left.”

“We’ll just sway back and forth while we take a few easy steps in the buff,” I said.

“In the buff! Naked?”

“You heard me. Finish undressing while I do the same.”

“What if somebody comes?” he asked.

“Will you stop worrying, Monte? No one is going to come here to fish or swim at night…except us.”

“We’re going to swim too? I love swimming, but haven’t done it for years.”

“Well, now’s your chance. I’m nearly undressed. Hurry up,” I urged.

The cool breeze made our bodies feel warm where we touched. It felt good to hold someone again that I once had some feelings for that even I had not yet understood and acknowledged. Time had not stolen that. I just regret that we didn‘t acknowledge and acted upon our feelings when we were in high school. Without breaking our hug, Monte leaned his head back and stared into my eyes. Then he smiled and spoke.

“You know, Kerry, I never missed a football game back in school, just so I could see your beautiful muscular body in those white satin bottoms with the lace over the crotch as if it were keeping your manhood under control, but I never dreamed I would see you nude other than in the school showers. I’m afraid I’m loosing control down there right now.”

“I can feel it…, mine too,” I said, and gave his butt a gentle slap. “Maybe we should go for a swim or just sit on the dock with our legs hanging over and talk for a while. That should calm our joy sticks down. We can take care of them later in my apartment.”

“Are you serious, Kerry?”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t say things I don’t mean?”

We sat down as I suggested with my arm around Monte’s shoulders. He made sure to sit to my right so that I would be looking at the un-scarred side of his face. Because he didn’t get out much and was not exposed to the sun, and because the moon’s light was cool and made light colored things look a little blue, his entire body looked almost chalky white. He put his hand on my thigh, and I grasped it so that he wouldn’t go further and fondle my cock. I knew that if he did, there would be no stopping either of us. And even though it would be romantic to make love in the moonlight in this beautiful setting, I much preferred the comfort and privacy of my bed.

“You’re very handsome, Kerry,” he said. “There must be someone else you’re romantically involved with?”

“There was once, but no longer is. After nineteen months of trying to make it work, we basically broke up because both of us preferred being the one who did the fucking.”

“That wouldn’t be a problem for me,” he said. “I like it that way. I haven’t had sex in so long that I almost forgot how it feels.”

That did it for me. I wanted to make love as soon as possible.

“Then let’s don’t swim.” I said anxiously. “We can come back and swim tomorrow night. The moon will still be mostly full. We’ll get dressed now and go to my apartment. Hurry up, Monte,” I said, and then kissed him on the lips. They had not been disfigured with scars and were sot and full and obviously needy.

We each had a drink before going to the bedroom where we had sex twice, after which Monte fell asleep in my arms. I lie awake thinking about how sweet and loving he was and how innocent he seemed for his age. I accredited his innocence to being shut up in that awful room and not getting out and about for so long. I was convinced that Monte’s innocence was what I loved most about him, and that he was the type of man that I wanted to spend my life with. And anyone who did what he did just to get a longer glimpse of me pausing at that telephone booth, had to love me as well. So I started planning. My income was far more than adequate to support both of us in style, so Monte would never have to work and suffer embarrassment from fellow workers. Tuesday morning I called in sick, and Monte wore his mask as we loaded what little clothing and personal items he had into the trunk of the car, and Monte left the veteran‘s building forever. I never would allow him to wear the mask when we were alone in the apartment. And now when I leave work and pass the mute phone on my way home to a gourmet meal cooked by my lover, I look at the empty phone booth and smile warmly. Ironically, it was the instrument which brought us together.

The End