When Love Takes Over - 6. Brandon Makes a Man Friend

I never did have great gaydar, so it wasn’t a big surprise I hadn’t pegged Chance as playing for our team. But I can honestly say I have never been happier to discover another guy is gay. And I did spend a couple of happy moments imaging making out with Chance on a warm summer night in a truck parked in the back of a field (the preferred place for hooking up in the country) that afternoon as I, man bun and poncho back in place, finished burning the remaining trash.

 

But I knew, even as I enjoyed imagining what he looked like underneath that plaid shirt that it was nothing more than just an enjoyable daydream. Even at my best, he was way out of my league, and my mental state was much worse that than my physical. I definitely wasn’t over Reed yet, though I hadn’t contacted him since the day after the funeral except for a few texts. And, as a long time practitioner of the wisdom of not shitting where you eat, I couldn’t imagine anything worse than trying to hook up with the closest thing I had to a neighbor and having it all blow up in my face.

 

I did, however, shower, trim my beard, apply cologne and make sure I was wearing something presentable the next day in anticipation of his visit to talk about the equipment purchase. Unfortunately, my preparations were in vain; he texted a little after lunch saying he would have to postpone coming over indefinitely. I have to admit I was somewhat crestfallen; while I liked solitude, I was a bit lonely and any visitor, especially one that easy on the eyes was welcome. In fact, when the guys came to deliver my mattress later that day, I found myself chattering away at them like old people do when someone calls.

 

I had primed and paint the bedroom, so I was able to go ahead and set the bed up. I had painted the walls a warm white; with the drab, dark paneling painted, the room looked so much brighter and larger. I planned to use the same paint color through most of the rest of the house, including the trim and ceilings, but in here, I painted the ceiling a beautiful soft robin’s egg blue. I had actually liked the rusted patina of the iron frame, so I stabilized the rust so it wouldn’t deteriorate further and then sealed it so it wouldn’t rub off on linens.

 

I went with crisp all white cotton bedding. It was the first time I had used white sheets and a duvet cover in a long time. Reed didn’t like them, feeling they weren’t practical and stained easily. Considering that the only contribution he had ever made to any household cleaning was to write the check for a housekeeper (after we were able to afford one), I had always wondered why he cared if they were difficult to care for. It hadn’t been an important enough issue for me to make a big deal over it, but I really enjoyed climbing into that pile of sweet smelling white bedding that I had dried in the sun, and I felt that stretching out over the full surface of the queen sized bed was Heaven.

 

Privacy wasn’t an issue, and I actually liked sunlight waking me up in the morning. However, I knew the sun would be much stronger in the warm months and I didn’t like the black holes the windows made at night, so I made simple relaxed Roman shades of unlined, unbleached cotton that softly filtered the light. A floor lamp and a wooden straight chair used as a side table made the room functional for now, but with the bed in place, I was anxious to finish it. I did want it to be a retreat as I worked on the rest of the house and the overgrown grounds.

 

Looking around, I tried to picture the missing pieces. I didn’t want to add a lot more furniture. The room wasn’t large, and I honestly didn’t need much more. All my clothes fit in the closet, and I didn’t plan on having a tv in my bedroom. After the increasingly elaborate houses Reed and I had lived in, I felt like embracing minimalism. Still, I wanted a large side table for a better reading lamp and to told the piles of books I tended to accumulate, not to mention my laptop, tablet and other electronics. And the wall across from the bed, the only really large expanse of wall unbroken by doors or windows was crying out for a large piece of art.

 

I had the two perfect pieces, I realized. One of the few pieces of furniture that had survived the flooding of my apartment was my grandmother’s table. Once it dried, it was as good as new except for the rusted castors. I guess it’s not surprising it survived since family legend was that my grandfather, with the help of some friends, had fished the solid maple top out of the Mississippi after a flood and had built a new base for it. It was large, but would definitely fit in the space between the bed and the corner. Plus I missed using it.

 

As for the art, one of my favorite painting I had ever done was a very large, 6 foot by 6 foot diptych, an abstract view of Lake Pontchartrain done in the watery blue/gray/green tones I preferred. I had painted it for Reed’s first house, but it had moved from place to place. The problem was, of course, that those pieces were in New Orleans in storage.

 

I had told Reed that I didn’t care what happened to the things I had left behind, but I suppose even then I knew that wasn’t really true. I didn’t want a lot, but as I left the master bedroom and wandered the house making notes of the furniture I needed, I realized that I did miss some of my things. In addition to the table and painting, I wanted the two leather chairs that I bought for my first apartment after Katrina; they had been the first real adult pieces of furniture I had ever purchased, and even with my employee discount had been hideously expensive.

 

The were made in the U.S., with hand tied springs and down cushions. They weren’t huge, and had sleek lines. But the distressed brown leather recalled the classic club chairs of the 1930s and 1940s, and the down cushions insured that sitting in them was extra comfortable. At the same time I bought the chairs, I had also purchased a platform bed from the same company, dark wood with an upholstered headboard. With the chairs, it had also moved from my French Quarter apartment to Reed’s first house and then the subsequent others. And there were some other things, books, favorite cookware, etc. that I missed. When I got a bit further along, a trip to New Orleans to the storage unit to retrieve at least some of my possessions seemed inevitable.

 

Even without the final bedroom touches, I had a comfortable bed and a serene space to head to at the end of the day. Now, I was ready to tackle some more ambitious projects, like, the kitchen.

 

I had no intention of doing anything too major. The cabinets, solid wood stained to match the paneling, were still in good shape, and I even liked the retro look of the Early American style hammered hardware. I hated the dreary stain, though, and painted them to match the walls, but in a glossier finish. The stove, dishwasher, and refrigerator were relatively new, and since they were white, fit well into the new scheme.

 

I did remove the row of cabinets that hung from the ceiling over the kitchen peninsula. Even as a kid, I had felt they looked heavy and they blocked the open feel of the room. Removing them wasn’t that difficult, but I did have to be careful not to damage the cabinets they joined, and the ceiling required patching. Electrical work, except for the most basic kind, intimidated me, so I called my old decorator boss in Ruston for the name of an electrician and got him to install simple glass pendants over the bar. While Blake, the electrician, was there, I got him to replace the dark, dated ceiling fans with sleeker models. Since the new fans didn’t have light kits, I also got Blake to install some simple recessed lights. With the new white paint, those small changes had a huge impact in making the room look much more modern.

 

The peninsula had originally been designed with an overhang for seating, but my stepmother had requested my dad add more cabinets in that space with doors that opened into what was the den. I tore those ought as well, restoring the peninsula to being a breakfast bar. After removing those, I was ready for the challenging part of the project: creating a concrete countertop. It was something I had never attempted, but I had always been interested in trying. Dad had every tool known to man in his large shop, and it didn’t take me long to assemble the things I needed for the wooden form for the concrete. Before I started, I called the artisan in New Orleans who had made some for me on various projects; he gave me detailed instructions and tips, and then I read and watched every tutorial about it on the web.

 

It wasn’t easy, and I especially struggled with getting the new stainless sink set right, but in the end, I was thrilled with how they turned out. They weren’t perfect, but after being sealed and polished, the natural gray glowed softly against the white cabinets.

 

With the living room being opened into the former den and kitchen, an awkward situation had been created by now having redundant doorways from the hall into both the kitchen and the former living room. I removed the one from the kitchen, luckily finding some sheets of paneling that matched the existing walls well enough, especially after painting. Instead of having an eating area beside the kitchen, I had placed a large, rustic cabinet on that wall. It was covered in several layers of peeling paint that looked good next to the crisp white walls. Dad and Ruby had used it for storage on the covered patio outside the house, and it had taken a lot of effort to get it inside by myself, but I am very stubborn.

 

I removed the door to the hall, preferring just to having an opening. I also increased the size of the opening as much as I could to bring the light from the living area into the dark hall. Other changes including having the long table I purchased at the consignment store delivered, and I ordered some industrial style wood and metal bar stools from World Market. The long harvest table was placed in what had been the den. Even after the furniture was added, the great room was a bit empty, but looking very much better than it had just a few short weeks ago.

 

It had been about three weeks worth of absorbing work, and I had been so involved with the project that I had completely forgotten about Chance’s visit. So I was very surprised when I answered a knock on the door from the carport to find him standing there. I was in the middle of priming the hallway and hadn’t been expecting anyone. In fact, since Blake’s visit last week, I hadn’t seen anyone except the clerk at the library and the checkout girl at Piggly Wiggly.

 

It was good to see him, and if anything, he looked even better than I remembered. We were having a bit of a warm spell, so he was wearing a t-shirt instead of a flannel button down. And let me just say, he was doing that t-shirt a favor by wearing it. I had luckily taken a shower that morning and was wearing neither a poncho or a man bun, but that was about as far as I could compliment myself since I was wearing a dingy t-shirt, paint splattered overalls, and a bandanna as a do-rag. Apparently I was doomed to meet Chance while making unfortunate hair choices.

 

“Hey,” he said. “Sorry to stop by unannounced. I tried calling and texting, but didn’t get an answer. I saw the truck was here, though, and figured you were around. Hope it isn’t a bad time.”

 

“Shit,” I said. He gave me a strange look. “I just realized my phone is dead and I forgot to charge it. In fact I’m not sure the last time I used it.”

 

“Going all hermit on me? Not planning to become next Unibomber I hope,” he said with a grin. God, he looked sexy when he grinned.

 

“Nope. At least not yet. Come on in, “ I said, opening the door wider and stepping inside. “I just made some fresh iced tea.” I turned and headed to the hall to drop the paint roller I was still holding into the roller pan.

 

“Wow,” he said looking around as I poured his tea. “This looks amazing. I can’t believe you did this in what….three weeks”?”

 

“Thanks,” I said,i pleased with the praise. But except for the countertop, it wasn’t that big a deal, mainly paint. And I had an electrician do all the lights for me.”

 

“Did you do this?” he asked, running his hands along the concrete counter.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Impressive. I didn’t know you were this handy.”

 

I shrugged. “I haven’t been hands on in a while, but I did a lot of the work myself in the first couple I houses Reed and I had. I’m no master builder, but I can do a lot of the basic DIY stuff.”

 

He sat silently for a minute, lost in thought. “I hate to do this,” he finally said. “But, I have a favor to ask. Mom’s going to be released in a few weeks, but she’ll be in a wheelchair still for a few of months. I need to do some things to make the house more wheelchair accessible for her. I’ve been trying to find a reliable handyman to do it, but no luck, and it's too a bit too much for me to do myself. If you could help me out, I’d really appreciate it.”

 

He looked so good, so earnest with aqua eyes pleading as he asked for help for his invalid mother. I would have agreed to do anything to help him right then, including removing my kidney myself with a sharpened spoon and handing it to him.

 

“Sure. What do we need to do?”

 

“Tomorrow’s Sunday. Why don’t you come to lunch, and we can talk about what needs to be done and get a plan together.”

 

“Sure. What time?”

 

“Church gets out at noon, so by the time I get home and put the finishing touches on about 12:30 or so.”

 

“You’re going to church?” I don’t know why I was so surprised.

 

“Of course. Momma may be in the hospital 120 miles away, but she would tan my hide if she found out I skipped church. And you know she has one of those old biddies keeping tabs,” he laughed. “Besides, it nice. You should come.”

 

I opened my mouth to refuse, but thought better of it. Why not? I had grown up going to the small local Baptist Church, and I had actually liked it. The music, the fellowship. It hadn’t, at least then, been a hateful bigoted place. I had gone a few times in recent years during visits and had been pleasantly surprised by the current preacher, a younger man who was more interested in preaching love thy neighbor than hellfire and damnation.

 

“Sure.”

 

“Cool. I’ll pick you up about a quarter to eleven. Do you want to go look at the equipment now?”

 

It didn’t take long to identify the pieces he wanted, and within 30 minutes he was gone, refusing another glass of tea. He did insist upon writing a check right then, and I was surprised to find out what the equipment was worth. I realized that after I finished painting the house, I needed to focus on selling the rest of the equipment and tools I didn’t want. If it could fetch decent money, I would go ahead and do some of the more extensive renovations I wanted, like re-tiling the master bath.

 

The next day, Chance was prompt, just as expected from a military man. Though it had been a long time since I had attended church services regularly on Sunday, it somehow felt nice. It also felt nice contemplating the way Chance filled out a pair of khakis; I’m not sure if his ass looked better in jeans or in slacks. This was a subject, I felt, that needed much more intensive research.

 

In some ways the service was surreal. The church was exactly the same in many ways that it had been in my youth. And many of the faces in the congregation, though noticeably older, were also the same. But even as it all felt familiar, I was aware of all the things that had changed in the world, as well as in my own life. I even enjoyed the sermon, which focused on Ecclesiastes, the only book of the Bible I liked without reservation, and I loved singing the familiar hymns. I loved to sing and had always visited the same piano bar every Sunday before I met Reed and before our weekends began revolving around our shared interests.

 

Chance obviously loved singing, too, and his bass voice was deep and powerful. Unfortunately it was also very obviously off-key, a fact that didn’t dampen his enthusiasm. I found it kind of endearing, actually. After the service, we had to run the gauntlet of old women who wanted to wish us well, and Chance also had to endure the enthusiastic greetings of the few single women in the congregation. Obviously his preferences were not common knowledge, or if they were, it wasn’t enough to deter the hopeful, and I found his discomfort amusing.

 

We had almost made it back to his truck when we were stopped by Miss Lenora. Miss Lenora was as old as the hills and had taught us Sunday school, as she had countless other children. She was wearing the same dark brown pageboy wig she had worn as long as I could remember.

 

“Brandon, Chance. How nice to see you.”

 

“Hi, Miss Lenora,” we spoke in unison.

 

“I’m so glad to see you’re still here, Chance,” she said. “How long till you go back to New Orleans?”

 

“Not for a bit,” I said. “I’m actually planning to stay through the summer.”

 

“How nice. Do you still play the piano? I remembered that you used to play so beautifully.”

 

“I don’t practice as much as I should, but I still play.”

 

“Wonderful,” she said. “You’re an answer to a pray! Denise can’t play next week because she’s going to a wedding out of town, and our usual substitute will still be on vacation. I’ll let the music director know you can play for us!”

 

I shot Chance a pleading look. He shrugged, indicating that this was out of his hands. I opened my mouth to come up with an excuse; nothing happened.

 

“Remember, choir practice is on Wednesday night at 6. What is your number?” she said, opening her purse and pulling out a small notebook and pen. “I’ll have the music director call with next week’s hymns so you can start practicing right away.”

 

“This is your fault!” I mock glared at Chance after she walked away.

 

“I had nothing to do with it,” he protested. “It was clearly God’s will. “You are…” at this point he began snickering like a 12 year old, “‘an answer to a prayer’.”

 

“Asshole.”

 

He pretended to be shocked. “Such language! And at a house of God. For shame.”

 

I shot him the bird. He snickered again, but then his eyes shifted left, and a look of horror overcame his features. I followed his eyes, and realized that one of the true “old biddies” of the church was witnessing my flipping him off. I blushed, knowing that she would be burning up the phone lines telling everyone about that “heathen” Watson boy and his behavior at church. I dropped my hand and turned back to Chance who was doubled up with laughter at this point. “Fuck,” I said and walked to the truck.

 

Even if I had actually been angry with Chance, the moment I smelled his cooking when he opened the door to his house, I would have forgiven him.

 

“Oh my God, that smells amazing,” I said. “Ham?”

 

“Yep. I put it in a low oven this morning at five. We’re having that and potato casserole, yeast rolls and roasted brussel sprouts.”

 

“You can make Miss Pauline’s yeast rolls? Marry me, “ I said.

 

Lunch was just as amazing as it smelled, and I scraped my plate. He complemented it with a crisp Sauvignon Blanc. For desert, he had made shortcake, topped with strawberries in brown sugar, a balsamic vinegar glaze, and fresh whipped cream.

 

After we ate, we went around the house making notes. We definitely needed to move out some furniture, including Miss Pauline’s bed to make room for a hospital bed Chance planned to rent. We also needed to roll up some rugs, remove the carpet in the den and her bedroom, build a ramp for the step up into the house, and to demo the bathtub/shower in her bathroom; Chance had made arrangements to have one of those pre-formed bathtub/shower combos with a built-in seat and a door installed, but we needed to make room first. The real problem was that we had nowhere to store the removed furniture in the house. The closest storage rental was 40 miles away, and Chance didn’t think his mother would want her things stored off site.

 

The best option was a nearby storage shed, but it needed work to be weatherproof. We would have to replace the shingles and do a raised floor to keep the furniture safe. Chance made a list of needed supplies, he planned to be at the Ruston Lowe’s as soon as they opened, and I would meet him at 8:30 to start. One of Chance's older brothers was taking over visiting duties with Miss Pauline in Shreveport while we modified the house.

 

It took us a couple of days to fix up the shed, but the weather was in our favor; for February, it was very warm. In fact, Chance was soon sweating and removed his shirt.

 

“Wow,” I said involuntarily. “You must work out. A lot.”

 

“I do. I set up a weight room in one of the other sheds.”

 

I looked from his ripped body and down at my own less than Adonis-like figure. “Hmm. Maybe I should do that. I think my old weight bench is somewhere in Dad’s shop.”

 

“I’ll be happy to help. Glad to give you some pointers.”

 

After the shed was finished, we started clearing out the extra furniture, making sure to wrap it securely. I know I didn’t want to have to explain to Miss Pauline why her antique bed was scratched or how moths got into her wool rugs. Everything, including building the ramp went smoothly until we came to removing the carpet.

 

The carpet and pad came up easily enough, and the floor underneath was the same poured epoxy floor as in the rest of the house. In fact, most houses built in our area during that period had a similar floor; mine did. And it was in good shape; however, removing the carpet revealed the giant loops of glue that the installers had used. Removing those glue marks was a bitch. After some internet research and a call to my favorite installer in New Orleans, we finally found an industrial solvent that would work to remove them, but the fumes were unholy. Luckily, I found a couple of respirator masks in my father’s stock of tools, but after we finished the house reeked.

 

I insisted that Chance spend the next couple of days with me while the house aired out. While there, he helped me unearth my high school weight bench along with the weights and showed me a basic workout. He also helped me find someone to auction off dad's tools I didn't want, most of the equipment, and old vehicles.

 

With the work at his place finished, he spent the next couple of days helping me trim bushes and trees and clean up the overgrown vegetation at my own house. And at night, he cooked up more fantastic meals. I still didn’t have much furniture, including a tv, so after dinner, we piled on my bed to watch Netflix on my laptop. Even though I didn’t think of Chance as anything other than a friend, I have to admit, I did get a charge from sitting so close to such an attractive man, and when we occasionally brushed up next to each other, I may have chubbed up just a bit.

 

Not long after the smell of the solvent cleared, it was time for Chance to go pick up his mother to bring her home. Very soon after she had gotten back and settled, she insisted that Chance have me over to dinner to thank me for the help I had given.

 

I was relieved to see that, while still obviously in discomfort, she was in generally good shape and good spirits. She was as alert as ever, carefully dressed and with her thick hair its usual unnatural black. Once at church, one of the “old biddies” had asked, “Pauline when are you going to stop dying your hair black?” Miss Pauline had replied, “When I’m too feeble to lift the bottle over my head.”

 

“Chance told me how much you helped getting the house ready for this darn fool thing,” she said indicating the wheelchair "Thank you so much."

 

“It was no trouble, ma'am.”

 

“ Just say 'you're welcome,' " she said. "It’s such a shame about your dad. How’s your stepmother doing?”

 

“Okay, I guess. I haven’t talked to her lately.”

 

“You should check on her,” she said, making it clear that this was an order and not a suggestion.

 

“Yes, ma'am.”

 

Chance had made another one of his amazing meals, this one a roast with all the trimmings and homemade biscuits. He had left the dining room to go whip the cream for dessert, a peach cobbler.

 

“This is so good,” I said, sopping up the last of the gravy with a biscuit. “He is very talented in the kitchen.”

 

“I know,” she said, with a pleased look. “He’s very special. I’ve always been so proud of him. I know he thinks highly of you, too.”

 

I must have given her an inquiring look, because she continued, “In the last month or so, every time he came to visit me in the hospital or called, he’s talked about you and how talented you are. He used to do that in high school, too. I remember when you painted the sets for his senior play, he went on and on about them.”

 

“Really? I had no idea.”

 

“Well,” she said, “now you do.”

 

I continued to go to church with Chance and, now, Miss Pauline on Sundays, always coming back to their house for lunch. I substituted for the pianist now and then for choir practice, and even played for a function at the high school after one of my old teachers asked for help. I continued working on the house, finally finishing painting what seemed like miles of paneling. And after the successful auction of father’s tools and equipment, I decided to splurge on installing wood flooring and redoing the master bath.

 

Chance helped me install the wood floors. It was tedious, but not really difficult. Applying the perfect stain, a mix of Jacobean and ebony was the hardest part, and after finally completing the last room, we both vowed never to do that again.

 

I also decided to redo the master bath. I was okay with the Nile green and white tile in the hall bath, especially after painting the vanity and the floor white. Luckily the fixtures were also white. I had a new countertop installed, white Corian to replace the original faded and scratched Formica. Those small changes were enough to make the room feel new, but the master bath was a different story.

 

In the master bath, the wall tile was pink. And not just any pink, a particularly ugly pink. There wasn’t a tub in there, just a small walk in shower. I had the wall tile replaced with plain white subway tile, but took it all the way to the ceiling instead of ¾ up the wall like the original tile. On the wall facing the door where the sink was, I removed all of the tile and had the entire wall mirrored. And for the vanity, I removed the existing built in, and decided to use an industrial metal and wood cart with a white porcelain vessel sink. I tile the floor in black and white, and painted the ceiling the same robin’s egg blue as the adjoining bedroom.

 

After this is was time to get the furniture and things I needed from New Orleans. It would be the first time I would see to Reed since the funeral, though I had spoken to him several times on the phone. Sometimes I appreciated him giving me the time and space I had asked for, and sometimes I was angry that he hadn’t shown up on my doorstep, demanding I take him back. I wasn’t sure if I wanted or didn’t want him to renew his declaration of love.

 

He seemed surprised by my call, but happy to hear from me as always. After a bit of chatting and catching up, we agreed on a convenient date for me to come pick up the furniture and things I wanted.. He had the things at a warehouse in the Bywater that we used to store building supplies, furniture, etc. for our projects. I decided to drive in on a Friday, we would meet on Saturday so I could sort out what to take, and then i would load up Uhaul trailer and leave on Sunday morning. “I look forward to seeing you again,” he said.

 

I called Ben to let him know I was coming into town. And he insisted that I stay with he and Don.

 

“You’re not getting a hotel, and that’s final,” he said to my protests. “It will be fun to have you stay here. We can stay up all night talking about boys and braiding our hair.”

 

When I mentioned my upcoming trip to Chance and Miss Pauline at lunch on Sunday, she said almost immediately, “Chance, why don’t you go and keep Brandon company on that long drive? And he might need some helping loading things.”

 

“I’d love for you to go if you’d like to. I’m staying with some friends, and they’re a lot of fun, but it's not necessary,” I said.

 

“I don’t know. I hate to leave you alone,” he said to his mother.

 

“Nonsense, I won’t be alone. I’ll have Luann,” she said, referring to the lady who provided her home health care. “I’m sure she can stay all weekend.”

 

“I don’t know,” Chance said, still uncertain. “I’ll think about it.” He got up, taking the dirty dishes to the kitchen.

 

“Please, please convince him to go,” Miss Pauline said urgently, putting a thin, but surprisingly strong hand on my arm. “I need a break. He’s driving me up the wall. Ever since I got home from the hospital, he’s been like a mother hen, and it’s making me crazier than a betsy bug.”

 

It took some effort, but in the end, we managed to convince him to come. I called Ben to make sure bringing another guest was okay. “Sure. I’m happy you’re bringing a man with you, “ Ben said.

 

“He’s just a friend.”

 

“A man friend,” Ben purred, emphasizing “man.”

 

“Behave,” I said.

 

Ben and Don had plans to see a show on the Friday we arrived in New Orleans, so after dinner at their house, the four of us headed to the French Quarter. They went on to the House of Blues, and Chance and I hit the area of gay bars called the Fruit Loop. After we had gone to Lafitte’s and Good Friends, Chance wanted to go to the Hardy Hole.

 

“I haven’t been there since Fleet Week about 10 years ago,” he said.

 

“I don’t know,” I said, thinking about Charlie and Frank. I wasn’t sure I was up to running into either one, or Heaven forbid, both of them.

 

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” he urged. Again I hesitated. “What’s the deal? Why don’t you want to go? I remember you telling me it was your favorite bar,” he said.

 

My mouth loosened by one too many beers, let the bean spills. “Right before I left town, I got drunk and had a threeway with the owner and another guy, and I’m afraid I’ll run into them.”

 

He looked at me for a long second, then starting laughing. “You do get around,” he said. “Come on, let’s go. I’m sure you’re not going to be the only survivor of a threeway in there. In fact,” he said, looking smug, “I can guarantee it.

 

I was so distracted by contemplating Chance in a threesome that I allowed myself to be dragged through the Quarter. Oh well, chances were good that I was going to end up at the Hardy Hole eventually, so I might as well get my first visit back over with.

 

As I had feared, Charlie was there. In fact, he was working the door, checking I.D.s. If he were suffering any embarrassment, though, he didn’t show it. In fact the first thing he did when I showed up was to envelop me in a crushing bear hug.

 

“Brandon,” he said, finally releasing me. “It’s good to see you. Frank told me about your dad. Sorry to hear about him.”

 

“Thanks. This is my friend Brandon. He’s from Terry, too.”

 

“Good to meet you,” Charlie said, shaking hands with Chance while giving him an approving appraisal. “Go have fun.” To me he said, “I’m glad you have someone looking out for you.”

 

As we walked inside, Chance leaned over and whispered, “Is that the owner? From the threesome?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Well, I have to give you credit for good taste.”

 

“Thanks,” I said, pushing through the crowd to get to the bar. Before I could reach my destination, I felt myself being seized again by a pair of burly arms and being hugged. Though hug doesn’t adequately describe the crushing embrace that was foisted upon me; then I felt myself actually being lifted..

 

“BRANDON!!!!!!!!” a voice squealed over the din of people and the loud music. Great, I thought, here’s Frank. Right on schedule.

 

“Put me down,” I said as loudly as possible considering I was being held so tightly I could barely breathe.

 

“Sorry,” he said, finally lowering me. “I’m just so excited to see you,” Frank said, a huge smile splitting his beard. “I didn’t know you were back.”

 

“Just for the weekend. Frank,” I said, turning, “This is my friend Chance. Chance, this is Frank.”

 

“Hi,” Frank said, his eyes brightening as he took in Chance. “Are y’all dating?”

 

“We’re just friends,” I said. “It’s good to see you, but…” I started the brush off, but stopped when his face fell as he realized what I was doing, and I had to stop. Blowing Frank off would be like kicking a puppy. “Do you want to hang with us for a bit?” I shot a glance at Chance hoping he wouldn’t mind, but the bastard, so far from minding had a smirk on his face as he enjoyed my discomfort. Asshole.

 

“Sure,” Frank said happily, the sunny smile returned to his face.

 

Relieved to have a reason to break away, I returned to my mission to get beer. It took a while to maneuver through the crowd to the bar and even longer to get the beleaguered bartender’s attention. Certainly enough time for Frank and Chance to get acquainted. They were settled tightly into a corner, laughing at something, and Frank was making sure he kept his hand on Chance’s arm.

 

“I got you a beer,” I snarled, thrusting the icy bottle at Frank. “What’s so funny?” I asked, handing Chance his own beer.

 

“Ryan…..I mean Brian...I mean Fred…..over here was telling me how you forgot his name,” he said barely managing to get the sentence out before breaking up into laughter. Frank, too, was chortling away like he had just heard the world’s funniest joke.

 

“Great,” I said sourly. “Just great.”

 

“Oh, don’t be that way,” said Frank, stepping over and gathering me into a side hug. “It actually was pretty funny. You looked like a deer caught in headlights.”

 

Considering that the guy whose name I had forgotten after an epic threeway was able to consider my slip funny, I guess it would be an asshole move to not have a sense of humor about it.

 

“I guess it was.”

 

After the initial awkwardness, I ended up having a pretty good time. Frank was a really nice guy, and a very cute one. And there is nothing like having a cute younger guy broadly hinting that he was ready to have another threeway with you to make you feel good. I, however, was sober enough to say no this time, and to my relief, Chance didn’t seem to take Frank seriously at all. Sometime after midnight, Chance and I headed back to Ben’s place. Alone.

 

The next day, we had a late brunch with Ben and Don who both laughed uproariously at Chance’s version of our night with Frank. I managed a weak smile. Honestly, I was so nervous about my upcoming meeting with Reed that I didn’t care what we talked about. Chance had offered to go with me, but I felt a bit weird involving him, so I told I preferred to handle it alone and sent him off to the French Market with the list of items Miss Pauline wanted. Time seemed to be flying, and before I was ready, I was on Chartres driving to the warehouse.

 

I had taken some pains with my appearance that day, trimming my beard and putting a bit of product in my hair which was now long enough to pull into a ponytail. I had started walking through the trees on my property after I had mowed the trail that rang along the perimeter of the woods, and the walking combined with Chance’s workoust was starting to have an effect. He had also helped me eat better, and my belly had shrunk. In fact, when I went to buy some new jeans for this weekend, I pleasantly surprised by how easily I fit into my old size. With the new dark jeans and a similarly hued navy sweater, I actually looked pretty good. At least I hoped I did.

 

Reed looked fantastic, as usual. He had regained whatever weight he had lost since the breakup and looked lean, fit, and healthy. His dark hair was beautifully styled and gleamed with a dark luster. The white sweater showed off a complexion that was smoothly tanned even this early in the spring.

 

Reed had asked a couple of guys from one of his worksites to come over and help. Since the boxes had been carefully packed and labeled, it didn’t take too long for me to sift through the contents and find the things I wanted. We placed them to the side, returning the unwanted items to storage, and made the arrangements to meet in the morning at 9.

 

When we walked outside, I realized it was later than I had originally thought.

 

“Let’s get something to eat, “ he suggested. “Unless you have plans.”

 

“Actually, I don’t. But isn’t it a little early for dinner?”

 

“Maybe, but we can get some drinks and have time to talk.”

 

It sounded tempting. Life in the country was peaceful and serene, but I missed some aspects of city life like happy hour in a swanky bar.

 

“Okay. But I should let Chance know and see if he wants to join us.”

 

“Chance?”

 

“He’s a friend from home. He came to keep me company on the ride.”

 

“Oh, right. I remember you mentioning him on the phone. I didn't realize he came with you,” he said. “Of course. Please see if he wants to join us.”

 

“Chance,” I said once he answered his phone. “Reed wants to go to dinner. You up for it?”

 

“You go. I’m a bit tired. Not used to staying up so late. I think I’ll grab something quick and go to bed early tonight.”

 

“Are you sure?” I asked. He did sound tired and a bit down.

 

“Yes, I’m sure. Go have fun.” I texted Ben to let him know what was up.

 

Reed followed me to Ben’s house. He wanted to eat at Tommy’s in the CBD, and I didn’t want to drive my truck and try to find parking on a Saturday night. It felt very familiar as I settled into the black Mercedes next to Reed. Driving out to eat on a Saturday night, Reed’s favorite music, jazz, playing on the radio.

 

Conversation on the drive was casual. Mostly about the Degas project.

 

“Do you want to see it?” he asked. We had just made it to the Quarter.

 

“Sure.”

 

He drove to the residential part of Dauphine St. A row of three cottages linked by a high wall and all painted the same faded tan sat beside the street. He unlocked a dark green wooden gate that was framed by an arch covered in jasmine and led the way down a passageway created by high brick walls. I emerged from underneath another vine-covered archway and stepped into an enchanted place.

 

The complex consisted of 6 separate cottages of varying size, each with their own private courtyard made of aged brick walls. More ancient brick paved them, with raised bed arounds them containing lush, overgrown greenery. In the center was a large central courtyard that contained a small, but beautifully portioned pool. To the right of the pool was another brick structure, a sort of pool house. The place was still in disrepair---Reed’s team was still in the demo stage, and the buildings had clearly been the victims of long term neglect, but it was still beautiful. And so quiet, I could hardly believe I was still in the French Quarter.

 

In the fading light, he showed me what he could of the cottages, detailing his plans. I have to be honest; I wasn’t exactly thrilled with what he told me the designer he was working with had planned, but since I had chosen to be a silent partner, I held my tongue.

 

“This place is amazing,” I said, as we stepped out of the passage and back onto Dauphine St.

 

“I know,” he said. “Sometimes I have to pinch myself to realize that this is my project. The only thing missing is you working on it.”

 

He must have seen the look of distress that crossed my face. “Sorry,” he said. “No more of that. Let’s just enjoy tonight.”

 

He parked in the garage for his condo, which wasn’t a far walk to the restaurant.

 

“Since it’s a bit early, do you want to come up for a drink before we head out?”

 

“Sure,” I said. I have to admit that I was morbidly curious to see his bachelor pad. The one he had picked out with John.

 

The condo was in a converted factory. We passed through and entrance with exposed brick walls and polished concrete floors. Tasteful, neutral, and expensive looking art hung on the walls, and modern lanterns hung from the ceilings. His condo was on the second floor.

 

It was fantastic, of course. More exposed brick and polished concrete floors. A wall of windows exposed his own small, but private courtyard. Past the entrance, stairs rose to the right to the bedrooms. And open kitchen was to the left. I had never been here, but it felt familiar.

 

I looked at one of the plastered walls. I knew that paint color. “Is that Oyster Bay?” I asked.

 

“Yes,” he said.

 

Oyster Bay was a beautiful blue/green/gray. I had used it throughout most of our first home together. I looked around startled at how familiar it seemed. In the dining area was a large round table in natural maple, It was bigger than my grandmother’s table, but except for size, it was a twin. It was surrounded by directors chairs slipcovered in natural linen as had my grandmother's table been when it was in our first dining room.

 

Everywhere I turned, I saw more and more things that reminded me of that home. That’s when I noticed a pair of brown leather chairs very similar to mine, but so new, the tags were still on them.

 

“You were using my chairs,” I said. “You should have told me. I would have let you keep them.”

 

“It doesn’t matter. They are yours after all. They came before me. I just had my decorator pick out a similar pair.”

 

“It looks just like our first house together, “ I said.

 

“I know. I showed the designer the pictures I had of it, and had her copy it as much as possible.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I wanted to be reminded of when I was the happiest I ever was.”

 

I didn’t know what to say, so for once remained silent.

 

“Let me get you a drink, and then I’ll show you the rest,” he said. “Bourbon, I presume? With water or do you want me to make you a Manhattan?”

 

“Actually just plain water is fine. Sparkling if you have it.”

 

“You don’t want a cocktail?” he seemed surprised. I couldn’t blame him.

 

“No. Not right now.”

 

He got the water and showed me upstairs. I noticed in his bedroom that he had taken a photo of my Lake Pontchartrain painting and had it turned into a giclee. I didn’t comment. After the tour, we headed to dinner.

 

Once we left the condo building, I again had the sense of deja vu walking beside Reed toward a posh restaurant just as we had done so many evenings. Tommy’s had been a particular favorite, one where we had enjoyed taking clients, and I was pleasantly surprised when the maitre d’, Ross, greeted me by name.

 

“Mr. Watson,” he said, seizing my hand, “It’s been too long. What a pleasant surprise! Mr. Bernal, I know you are pleased he’s back.”

 

“I am,” Reed said. “Can we have our usual table?”

 

“Of course”

 

It was so pleasant sitting down in that dark, old fashioned room. Candle light glowing and flickering in the mirrored panels that circled the dining room. As we were still settling in, cocktails arrived---our usual order. A dry Belvedere martini with blue cheese stuffed olives for Reed and a Manhattan made with Maker’s Mark for me.

 

“Compliments of the house,” the waiter said putting the shimmering glasses on the table. I briefly considered returning mine with my regrets, decided that would be rude, and raised the glass to my lips. I had had a few beers (well, maybe more than a few last night) and the occasional glass of wine in recent weeks, but it had been a long time since I had drunk bourbon or any other hard liquor. The Manhattan tasted like the nectar of the gods.

 

However, mindful of what happened the last time I poured bourbon down my throat at will, I refused the offer of another one, sticking to a bit of wine with dinner. (Well, maybe more than a bit of wine.) And what a dinner it was.

 

We had appetizers, salads, luscious seafood entrees, and flourless chocolate torte for dessert. As I sipped coffee after dessert (It had taken every fiber of my being, but I had turned down cognac), I was replete. I definitely had a buzz from the cocktail and the wine, but I was still in control.

 

I had forgotten how much fun dinner with Reed could be. And the conversation had been light, easy, and clever. As we walked out, Reed’s arm linked in mine, a smiling Ross said good night. At his greeting, I asked him to call me a cab, and Reed and I walked out to the street.

 

“Are you sure,” Reed whispered as we stood outside the restaurant. “ You could come back with me.”

 

“You and I both know what will happen. And I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

 

“Bad ideas are the best ones,” he said, leaning in even closer as he whispered. My blood surged as his lips brushed across my ears, and I inhaled his delicious cologne.

 

Mercifully, as I was contemplating his tempting offer, a cab pulled up.

 

“I had a wonderful evening, Reed, but I need to go,” I said. He gave me a long look, then pulled me tightly to him and gave me a kiss that made my knees buckle. The cabbie gave us a wolf whistle and chuckled as Reed poured my now limp form into the cab.

 

After I ate such a heavy meal, especially with the wine and cocktail, I had a sleepless night. And my confusion over Reed didn’t help. He obviously wanted me back. But did I want to go back? After last night, I realized that at least part of me did.

 

At any rate, I looked like hell at breakfast and was hungover. Chance tactfully refrained from mentioning that fact, and indeed, was silent through most of the morning. By the time we had met the guys at the warehouse, loaded up the trailer, and headed out, I was in a state more closely approaching normal. The gallons of coffee I had consumed helped immensely.

 

Chance noticed that I had perked up and asked about last night.

 

“How was it?”

 

“Dinner was great, but Tommy’s is always fantastic. You really should have come.”

 

“Never really cared for being a third wheel.”

 

“It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t a date.”

 

He glanced over at me with one eyebrow cocked. I envy him his ability to do that; I never was able to manage it.

 

“Well,” I said, “I guess it was kind of a date.”

 

“So did you do the nasty?” he asked. “Have yourself some ex sex?”

 

“That is none of you business. However, no, I did not.”

 

“Good,” he said, and smiled.