Shoulder Season - 1. Chapter 1

I walked into the house and looked around. Nothing seemed to have been touched or moved. I didn’t know where Blue may have hidden anything. Where the fuck would he have stashed drugs in my house? There were so many places; I looked around the library and could already see a thousand nooks and crannies. Why had I been so stupid to let him into my house? Surely, it was Michelle’s fault. She had me feed him that first time, and from that point forward, it was all downhill. Duh, of course, it wasn’t her fault. Why did there have to be fault assigned? I mentally challenged my mother’s dictum that someone, and usually me, was always at fault. That had been hammered into me. I expected God to show up at any moment and call me to account for all of my sins. Really? Fuck that.

I heated water for coffee. I desperately needed coffee. The house was quiet for the first time since Memorial Day. I wandered from room to room, looking for remnants of the weekend, anything to let me know I was living in real-time, and this was not just a figment of my imagination. Had all of this shit come down in a few short days? I was alone on a Tuesday morning. I opened all windows and sliding glass doors and turned off the air conditioner. Sunlight flooded the rooms, and warm, humid air quickly replaced the manufactured air that was the constant in the house.

I called Roxanne, my secretary, and told her I would not be in the office until lunchtime. As I said that, I realized that I needed some time off from the office and then told her I would be out the rest of the week unless she called with something urgent. She asked if I was okay, so I told her that I was “fine” (fucked-up, insecure, neurotic, and emotional) and needed recovery time from the Labor Day weekend. I let her know I was only a phone call away.

The shower was lonely without Timmy. I leaned against the tile wall as the water cascaded from my shoulders onto my pecs and then down to my groin. There was a river of suds as I washed my hair. When brushing my teeth, I noted that I looked as exhausted as I well should have. I had tossed and turned while wrapped in the blanket on the beach. The mirror reflected a brutalist version of myself. I stormed out of the bathroom as I didn’t want to see myself reflected in the mirror. I thought of covering every mirror in black cloth. Lord knows I was not Jewish; I just knew that something fundamental had changed, which meant that something had died so something new could be born. What was being birthed? Ahh, the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.

I paced the house and couldn’t focus on anything. My gut was in a knot. I couldn’t breathe; the house was sucking all of my energy. I then remembered the great time I had jet-skiing over the weekend and decided a day on the water would be good. I called my dad and asked about using his boat. He told me where he kept the ignition key and enjoy the day on the water.

The boat was a 14’ mahogany lake boat with a 35 horse-power engine. It wasn’t designed for open waters, but I decided if I stayed in the Roanoke Sound, all would be well. It was a beautiful day, and when I got to his dock, I noticed the sound was flat as a pond. Perfect for this little boat. I checked the gas cans to ensure I had enough fuel to get to Manteo. With two pulls, the engine chugged to life, and I pulled away from the dock into the canal.

When I entered the sound, I looked up at the brilliant sky and decided that the remnants of summer were still in the air. I pulled my shirt off and slowly made my way across the sound, heading to Manteo. I used the mast of the good ship, Elizabeth II, as my guide. I was in no hurry, so after crossing the channel, I cut the motor and enjoyed the quiet. I heard the gulls as they swept from Pony Island toward Roanoke Island. The warm air felt like a soothing blanket around me. I closed my eyes and decided I liked being adrift. I removed the middle seat and lay on the deck of the boat. It wasn’t too comfortable, but I didn’t care. The sun was beating down on my body. With my lying on the deck, no one could see that the boat was occupied; it looked like an abandoned watercraft. I fell asleep with the water gently slapping the sides of the boat.

The noise of the boat rubbing against reeds and the swarm of mosquitoes making a feast of my body awoke me. I had drifted into the marsh at Pony Island. I was slapping at the pests and trying to move away from the shoreline. It would have been comical if the nasty beasts were not using me for their latest meal. I was swatting at the bugs while trying to get an oar into the sand to provide leverage. I needed to move the boat away from the marsh. There wasn’t enough water to run the outboard engine, so I sculled like I was on the college rowing team.

At last, I was in water deep enough to let the engine down, and with one pull, it started. I fully opened the throttle and moved to deeper water. My hair was blowing in the breeze, and I had left the mosquitoes behind. I chuckled at my own stupidity as the itching from the mosquitoes took hold across my body. It was the first time I had found humor that day, and I knew that Calamine lotion was in my future.

I docked at the Manteo marina and donned my shirt. I needed food and went to the downtown diner. I ordered a flounder sandwich, fries, and iced tea. It came with a side of coleslaw. Perfection. Once finished, I paid and walked onto Fernando St. as a cut through to the Green Dolphin Pub and then to the bookstore. It had a proper name that I could never remember, so I always called it the “bookstore in Manteo.” I kept asking for a gay and lesbian section, but it never happened; nonetheless, it was an amazingly ideal small-town bookstore. Stevie pointed to the new arrivals table, and I leisurely looked through the selection of books. I liked that there was a wingchair where I could sit and read. I fell asleep in the quietude and familiarity by being surrounded by books. My snoring woke me, which made me chuckle at myself for the second time that day. I gathered a stack of books and went to the counter to pay. Stevie asked if I was rested after my nap. He laughed and told me that he hated to wake me because it was such a quiet day, and I looked so bedraggled. After paying, Stevie said he would hold the books until I could come back sometime during the week to retrieve them.

I moseyed to the marina, filled the gas tanks, and in short order, the boat was heading to the north end of Roanoke Island. It was easy to dock at The Lost Colony Theater, and I wandered the sound side theater, which had closed for the season. A couple of folks were winterizing the backstage area, and I went into the building with all the costumes. Everything was being cleaned and stored for another season. The staff were very gregarious, and we had a good time talking while I enjoyed hearing the stories about the summer. There was no shortage of tales about the actors and crew members and their antics.

It was hard to believe that the show had been running since 1937. I vaguely remembered something about a fire and how all of the costumes were thrown into the sound so they would not be destroyed. Up the hill above the seating area, President Roosevelt had sat in his vehicle and watched the production on August 18^th, Virginia Dare’s birthday, during the opening season. There were pictures of that iconic moment framed in the production offices. I wandered back to the backstage area, tugged on the bowline to bring the boat back to the dock, and cranked the engine. I didn’t go very far until I was at the Elizabethan Garden, where there were live oaks at the edge of a sandy beach; it was the perfect place to provide some salve to my weary soul. The Garden was one of the most peaceful places on the island. I tied the bowline to a tree limb and waded a few feet to the shore. I stepped into the world of an English garden in the middle of the new world.

It was amazing that the plants were still showing their summer blooms. The staff did a herculean job keeping the plants looking so good through the hot, humid days of August. I then looked up and saw my mother explaining something to a few visitors. Being a docent, it was not unusual for her to show visitors around the different areas of the gardens. She saw me and had a quizzical look on her face. She left the visitors and then walked over to me.

“What in the world are you doing in the gardens? I didn’t see you come through the Gatehouse.”

“I came in by the sound-side and secured the boat by the thatched roof gazebo.”

We sat on a stone bench placed along the walkway surrounding the great lawn.

“I must say that you had a wonderful party on Saturday night. Of course, there was just a little bit of trouble with your guests, but I have come to expect that when you have a party. Lord knows you run with a most interesting group of people.”

We sat in silence.

“You look like a lost little boy today. Do you want to talk?”

“Thanks, mother, but there is nothing I think I can share with you.”

Again, we sat in silence. I didn’t want to share the latest with my mother, especially since I had sent Timmy home with his grandmother. She wouldn’t understand. I wasn’t sure I did either.

She was never comfortable with silence and was the next to speak.

“You always preferred your father. I guess that belies all the stories of gay men being partial to their mothers. You and your dad have always been tight as can be. I have felt like the third wheel when being around the two of you.”

I said nothing because it felt like a trap had been set. I turned my head and looked at her.

“You know it’s true. Your father always took your side when you and I argued. He was always too lenient with you. You needed a steady hand because you were always a willful child. You had your own mind no matter regardless of what I would say. You lived as the prince. You always made me feel like the wicked stepmother.

I decided she was talking about her own shit, and I wasn’t going to interrupt her internal conversation.

“I could not help it that I couldn’t have more children. Your father then decided that you were the center of our universe. Well, I didn’t marry him to be some second-hand rose. I wanted to be the center of his universe, and he shifted that attention to you. Can you imagine how I felt?”

I just looked at her without speaking.

“Well, I can tell you there wasn’t much peace between us until you left for college. I was finally able to get his attention, and then you had to run into that deer. I still haven’t figured out how desperate you must have been to try to kill yourself in an automobile accident.”

I slowly rose from the bench and stretched, arching my back. I looked down into my mother’s face. It was implacable. I knew that years of family therapy would be needed before my mother and I could reconcile what had been a lifetime of emotional abuse. At least I saw it as emotional abuse, and I was sure that her take was completely different. I did feel sorry for her because she had expectations in life that were never met. We were broken in our own ways. Perhaps through that brokenness was a path for reconciliation. I knew that this wasn’t the time or place to start that process. We looked at each other, and I bid her a good day. I sincerely meant it. She had disclosed things to me that day that she had never said.

“Well, they will be looking for me in the Gatehouse. Did you say what you were doing over here this afternoon? Shouldn’t you be working? That business will not run itself. I told your father that it was wrong to turn over the business to you. I said you didn’t have a strong work ethic and would run it into the ground. Just because it is a holiday weekend, you think you can take more days off instead of keeping your staff earning money. I don’t know what to think of your management skills.”

I took back every kind thought I had about her and gave an enigmatic smile, turned toward the thatched roof gazebo, and walked away. Like Sally Bowles, without looking back, I raised my right hand and gave a wave with my fingers. Was I being a bitchy queen? Maybe I was and would own my behavior.

My idea of having a day of peace had been seriously knocked off-kilter by that brief conversation. I didn’t see it coming.

Was this why I had such a hard time understanding love and being in a relationship? I sat on the bench under the thatched roof and absorbed the beauty of the space. I needed the negativity from my mother to leach from my body and leave it behind. A cardinal sat on the rail and gave me a chirp. I laughed and thanked the cardinal for the all-clear sign. I made my way down the pathway to the beach. It was easy to push the boat away from the shore. I jumped in, started the motor, and headed west to the Mann’s Harbor Bridge. That was my final destination for the day, and from there, I would head east back to the beach. I guided the boat around the pylons to see if any alligators were awake and seeking prey. I chuckled, thinking mother had been an alligator nipping at my ass earlier.

With the sun to my back, I headed east across the sound to Nags Head crossing the widest part of the sound. The water was choppy, and I knew that it would be a challenging trip. The boat was not built to be in this large body of water when it was rough. I looked over my shoulder and saw a late summer storm heading my way, so I opened the throttle to make due speed across the open water. The boat would creak when it crested a wave and then slap down into a trough. Fuck, I hadn’t anticipated that the water would get this worked up today. The Nags Head water tower was my guidepost so that I would stay on course. Suddenly, the wind and rain were coming against me horizontally. Steady on, Big Guy, I thought. I can do this and not lose the boat. When I reached the entrance to the canals at Nags Head Village, I knew everything would be okay and sighed with relief. Damn, that was a rough crossing. The boat was filling with water, and I looked like a drowned rat.

My mother looked out the living room window as I approached the dock. She was frowning. As usual. She turned and walked away. My dad had on his slicker and was running out to help me. I grabbed the gas cans and handed one to him. We scurried back under the house as a clap of thunder and a streak of lightning hit near us. I jumped, then laughed like a madcap fool. Dad asked if I was okay.

“I had a great day, dad. Thanks for letting me use the boat. Can I use it again tomorrow?”

“Of course.” He gave me the eye. “I heard that part of your day might not have been so pleasant.” He pointed overhead.

I laughed and told him that I was sorry that she disliked me so much. He gave me a look that I could not decipher. I let it slide.

Damn, I had left the top off the Jeep, and it was soaked. It didn’t matter. I was soaked, and it was impossible to get any wetter. I headed over to the beach road and then north to the house.

The windows were open, and I ran around closing up the house and then turned on the air conditioner. I mopped water from each window sill. Luckily the storm had blown through Nags Head, and my house was on the edge of the wind and rain, so there was minor damage. After finishing, I walked into the bathroom, got in the shower, and started shedding my clothes. The hot water felt good. I squeezed the excess water from my clothes, took them onto the deck, and laid them out to dry. I was in a pair of navy gym shorts, sans shirt and shoes. I brushed my hair back from my face and looked at the ocean. I was always fascinated by the variability of the ocean and could spend hours sitting on the deck or the beach looking at the majesty of the ocean. The air was less humid and I could see the first evening star in the east.

The bar in my library had the perfect libation for the evening. I poured two fingers of Pinch into a tumbler, swirled it around, sniffed it, and decided it was the perfect salve for my soul. I added a thimble full of water to allow the taste to blossom. Some cheese, crackers, and grapes were the complement to the Scotch and served as dinner. Music was needed, and a stack of Luther CDs quickly filled the void. I couldn’t sit still and moved around the deck – definitely restless and unsettled.

The steps that Art had just repaired led me down to the ocean. I was slightly drunk. Fuck no, I was full-out drunk, and I liked it. I walked onto the compacted sand and was standing alone watching the waves when a man walked up the beach and stood beside me. He, too, was wearing shorts with no shoes or shirt. His broad chest was covered with a thick blanket of russet-colored hair. He smiled at me. The leonine mass of hair on his head was blowing in the breeze.

“Good evening, professor.”

I looked at him and wished him a good evening also.

“Are you ready for another semester?”

I nodded in the affirmative.

“I’m not taking any of your classes this semester.”

“You were a good student. I will miss having you in my class. I could always depend on you to have an interesting answer. So, tell me. Why are you going to the community college when you could easily get into any major university?”

He looked at me and then at my glass.

“Come, Max, let’s go up on the deck, and I will fix you a drink since I am not teaching you this semester.”

He followed me up the steps.

“What would you like to drink?”

“Can I have a Cosmopolitan?”

“Yes, you may, if you know who to fix it.” I laughed and told him I was not a very good bartender. Max quickly made himself a drink, and we moved to the deck.

“So, what has you wandering the beach tonight?”

Max looked at me and said he hoped to meet someone and have a roll in the hay. He smiled and said it looked like he had hit the jackpot.

“I have always had the hots for you. I couldn’t figure out why you were teaching at the community college and was told that several of our professors were also highly successful business people who came in as adjunct professors. You are a very handsome man, and I wanted you to know how you motivated me to excel.”

“I hoped that the subject matter motivated you to excel.”

“I will confess that I have little interest in the subject matter. I want to be a professional singer, but my parents are demanding that I get a degree in business first. I agreed to do that, and then I am heading to New York.”

“You are right to get the basics in business. If you are a successful singer, you will have a manager, and it will be good to know how he handles your finances. If you have to manage it yourself, you will know the basics.”

Luther was still singing, and Max started to sing along. The man had a beautiful voice. He then got up and made himself another Cosmopolitan.

I asked about drinking and driving, and he told me that he hoped that he would get drunk enough to screw up his courage to make a pass at me.

“That is not possible, my dear student. I don’t fuck with my students. Also, I am seeing someone and trying to be monogamous.”

“You ‘try’ to be monogamous?”

“Yep, I fall for temptation more than I would like. It is one of the more difficult challenges in my life. Don’t ask me why but there you have it. This time I think I have met the perfect one.”

I could see the gleam in his eyes.

“Not gonna happen, Max. Finish your drink, and then I will see you on your way. I have had a long day on the water, and this man is ready to go to bed.”

He set his drink on the railing, stood up, and told me it was good to see me. When he stood, a condom and a small bottle of lubricant fell from his pocket. He smiled and told me he liked to be prepared. He bent, with his ass in my face, to pick them up, then turned, kissed me on my lips, and headed off the deck.

“Thanks for the drink, professor. I hope to see you again soon when you are more amenable to what I have to offer.”

He laughed. The last I heard was him singing along with Luther as he walked down the beach.

I walked through the house and reflected on the conversation that Timmy and I had about rearranging things so that I could ‘see’ them again. I started removing artwork and stacked paintings against walls. I then propped one of the paintings on an artist’s easel and looked at it afresh. “Where do you want to live? What is the story you want to tell? Do you want to live here?” I knew I would ask each piece of artwork the same question. I already knew there were several pieces that I no longer wanted.

The Felicia Preston watercolor stayed above the mantel in the living room. Blue was correct that it was the perfect place for the painting. I took everything off the mantel and decided that cracked glazed pottery was needed to complement the painting. A trip to Seagrove was in order to look at pottery. When Timmy returned, we would plan a trip. I was creating our future.

I then stumbled to bed and fell into a deep, liquor-induced sleep. I was roused by the telephone screeching in my ear.

“Okay, I will be there within the hour. Yes, Roxanne, you did the right thing by calling me. I am done recovering from the holiday, and I am ready to come back to work.” So much for a few days off; I was glad to have the one day.

Roxanne was waiting with a handful of pink messages. I just looked at them as if they were snakes. I didn’t want to deal with the pink slime that would envelop me and suck me back into the work world. I refused to take them when she tried to hand them over.

“Okay, boss. What is going on?”

“Nothing, everything. I need to ease back into the reality of work.”

Roxanne just looked at me and waited for me to continue. I offered nothing.

“The meeting starts in less than an hour. I will be there to take notes. Randolph and his PT team will arrive in a few minutes, and I will put them in the conference room. Don’t look at me funny; you know they are all anal-retentive and arrive thirty minutes ahead of time.”

“Remind me how this meeting was scheduled while I was out for just one day.”

“Randolph called and said we had to get this planning done. He was very anxious about the fact that you had gone to ground. He said that the next development event was important to the shoulder season business, and with or without you that we had to move forward.”

I just shook my head and turned to look out my office window. I wasn’t ready for the change in season, the next step in our development project, or the events from last weekend. I needed a little more time to shift from one season to another. The view outside was of a serene paradise, but my entrails were unsettled. I knew that something fundamental had shifted in my life, and I was still trying to figure it out. I was walking on quicksand, and I needed to find solid ground. I needed stability. I needed Timmy.

The meeting started promptly at the appointed hour. I was a stickler for starting and ending meetings on time. I suppose it was a manifestation of a slight OCD personality quirk. I wasn’t obsessive about most things, but punctuality was top on the list. I considered it a fundamental way to honor people.

I was sitting at the head of the table and started the meeting. Randolph glared at me.

“Is there something wrong, Randolph?”

“I thought I was running the meeting. Other than that, I have no problem.”

My brain moved into another dimension and thought him to be a mother fucker, but I graciously backed down and apologized. It can be disarming to apologize even when no offense has been given. I handed over the leadership of the meeting to Randolph. He immediately started pulling out papers for everyone and telling us what to do. His voice was driving me crazy. When I looked at him, I saw a cartoon character with the voice coming out as ‘wah, wah, wah.’ The words did not register. I did not want to be in this fucking meeting with him.

“I hate to be a critic, but I found an error at the bottom of page two.”

Randolph glared at me after I pointed out a mistake. I knew his secretary would catch hell. “If there are errors, people will think we are not paying attention when we write sales contracts. We need everyone to think we have checked and double-checked everything. We don’t want a simple error to be the thing that sinks a sale.”

The rest of the afternoon was just as tedious. The last item was to pick the table teams for the upcoming event as we had done in Richmond. I said that I wanted to be paired with Timmy. Randolph gave me a confused look.

“Timmy’s had to return home because of a family emergency. So perhaps you should pick someone else.”

“How long will he be gone?”

“He said a few days, but I prefer you pick someone else.”

“I prefer Timmy, and if he isn’t able to be there, I will ask someone else to pair with me.”

I won the standoff but to what end. We finished the meeting, and I thanked everyone for being active participants.

“Roxanne has called Kelly’s and ordered some appetizers. Your first drink is on me. I will meet you there in a few minutes.”

I knew it was essential for me to coalesce the teams so we would have a successful presentation in Washington. Our fall and winter business would depend on our roll-out in that powerful, wealthy market.

Randolph stayed back and asked if I had a problem. I stated that we needed to clarify ahead of time who was to run the meetings. “There were things I wanted to cover this afternoon that we did not get to, but it seems you needed to be in charge. I will meet with my staff before we leave for the presentation to cover my points.”

“If you have things that will impact our presentation, I need to be included in the meeting.”

“Certainly, call Roxanne tomorrow morning, and she can let you know when the meeting will be held.”

“You don’t know when your own meeting is scheduled?”

“Nope, I trust my staff and don’t have to micromanage setting up a meeting. That is why I have them working with me. They are capable of deciding the best time that suits them, and Roxanne will make sure that my calendar is clear.”

I locked the office and climbed into the Jeep. I put my head on the steering wheel and gave a big sigh. My brain was full of disparate thoughts: Timmy, Jube, Blue, and Tommy, whether the feds would visit me, and how to make this presentation successful. I had worked too hard to lose the business because of my foolish actions. I decided to be a pro-active partner instead of a passive player to keep us moving forward. I needed to get back into the game.

When I turned the key, the Jeep roared to life, and I headed to Kelly’s.

The noise level in the bar indicated that folks were well on their way to a drunken evening. I walked up to Peanut, the bartender, and gave him my credit card for the appetizers and first round. He smiled and processed the card. He gave me a broad grin when I wrote him a sizeable tip. After pouring me a glass of single malt Scotch; he said it was on the house. He then asked what I was doing later because he would like to get together again. Peanut and I had connected a couple of times, and his nickname bore no resemblance to his junk. This slight fellow with curly hair, sparkling eyes, and lithe build had a big sausage between his legs. He loved to take his poundings hard while the top handled him and his meat. Afterward, he wasn’t satisfied unless he was cuddled all night. It seemed he liked the cuddling as much as the sex. The smile I gave Peanut was sincere when I told him I was seeing someone and wasn’t available. This was the second time in two days I had been asked to hook up. I knew that people were seeking partners to share accommodations for the long winter season, and I wasn’t going to be part of those shenanigans. Tonight, was also the second time I told someone I was in a relationship.

“Good on you, Pate. I hope he enjoys it as much as I have in the past. Just whistle when you want another drink ……. or another roll in the hay.” He walked off and took care of his other customers. I had chubbed up while talking with Peanut and gave myself a minute to calm down before turning away from the bar.

“Do you live here?” I asked Trace and Michelle as they walked toward me.

“You talk, you old drunk.” Trace was grinning. Michelle pulled me into a hug and then kissed me on the cheek.

“Happy, happy, the summer is over, and we can drive on the roads at a reasonable speed. No more gawkers with the kids hanging out all of the windows.”

“Yeah, it is a different clientele. No more families with young children. We now get the grandparents who are looking for a retirement home. That is good business for you and me.” Michelle was right.

Both Michelle and Trace looked at me.

“Well, why are you looking at me?”

“We are waiting for the social exterior to drop. Pate, tell us how you really are feeling.”

“I am fine; thank you very much for asking. A little tired after a long meeting this afternoon, but doing well.”

They both continued to look at me. Trace and Michelle could see the hurt and pain in my eyes. I started to walk off, and Trace grabbed my arm. “We are available if you need to talk.”

“Thanks for that, my friend, but I need to do my social thing right now. Perhaps later.”

“Let us know if you need anything.”

I nodded and moved into the crowd. Hide the pain, move on, and don’t let them see you when you are down. I had another drink, which was unusual for me. When I realized I was getting too loud and loquacious, the warning lights went off in my head, and I knew to head home immediately. If I drank too much, I might lose my ability to control my libido. No good would come of that. A stiff dick has no conscience….at least sometimes.

The evening was filled with nothingness. I wanted Timmy back in my life. No, I needed Timmy back in my life. I fell asleep smiling while thinking about Timmy.