Page 20 of Blue Umbrella Sky
Billy had tried. He really had. But every subtle hint he’d drop, every longing glance he’d send Milt’s way, every awkward but pointed touch, Milt met by laughing off or turning away or, the very worst, with a glance that clearly said no.
And yet Milt really seemed to like him! There was a sense that they were becoming best friends.
Perhaps that was all they were destined to be. Billy could just about manage to live with that consolation prize, but in the dark hours of the night, when he’d stand outside in the desert heat with a moon casting its silvery glow over the trailer park, he’d wonder if maybe he wouldn’t be happier gently but firmly cutting Milt out of his life. After all, sometimes it seemed like their growing friendship was, instead of a consolation, a hot point of pain, a tantalizing glimpse of what could never be.
Yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Milt made him smile.
Made his heart race.
Made—sometimes, when he was alone, eyes closed, muscles relaxed, fantasies firmly engaged—his dick hard.
Why oh why had this guy had such an effect? He was a good bit older. Really, he wasn’t even all that remarkable-looking. Sure, he had a sexy kind of daddy thing going on, with his salt-and-pepper buzzed hair and close-cropped beard, his gray eyes that seemed to possess unfathomable depths, but honestly, if he were in one of the gay bars on Arenas, he’d look like almost every other man present.
Why couldn’t Billy move on? Find a guy who wanted him, who was attracted to him, who wanted to be more than just buddies. The desert was full of likely and hopeful prospects.
Why was there this torture? This hope? Both things were doubly painful to Billy because he felt he had to endure them in secret.
It was almost enough to drive him to drink.
And sometimes he’d imagine dropping by Milt’s with a fifth of vodka, something good like Stoli or Grey Goose, pouring strong and steady for both of them and watching the sun go down as their brains became fuzzier and fuzzier. Imagining a hand landing on a knee, a sorry/not sorry bump of shoulders, an impulsive kiss that just missed the recipient’s mouth and then the aim would need to be rectified….
When those fantasies became too intense, Billy would find himself in need of an AA meeting, which he could almost always find, just down the road at Sunny Dunes.
Billy had to concede that Milt had come out of his shell a lot over the past few months. Billy could take some of the credit for that. He’d figuratively (though he wished it was literally) taken Milt by the hand and kind of forced him back into life. He introduced him around the little community at Summer Winds, letting him know whom he could trust and whom he might want to avoid.
He introduced him to Demuth Park and the pickleball courts there and taught him how to play. He got Milt out—to the Thursday-night street fair downtown, to the art museum, to a movie now and then. Milt’s favorite theater was the Mary Pickford in Cathedral City—Billy smiled because Milt loved the big reclining seats—and Milt would usually be out cold within fifteen minutes of a movie starting.
But what they loved most to do together was hike the mountain trails, as they were this morning.
Now that it was October, the weather had turned decidedly more pleasant, almost cool in the morning, if you set off early enough. They’d usually do the Araby Trail or the one behind Vons supermarket, the trail Billy could never recall the name of. He’d heard many names for it, Clara something or other or the Goat Trails, but he just referred to it as the trail behind Von’s. It seemed that’s what most people called it.
He took a slug of water and watched Milt and Ruby now as they ascended farther up the Araby Trail. They were nearing the top, and the cluster of celebrity mountain homes, the most famous of which was Bob Hope’s old domed mansion, was now below them. Billy rested against an outcropping of boulders, the sun beginning to actually burn on his shoulders. He was glad he’d smeared some sunscreen on his nose, donned a baseball cap.
When they’d started hiking in earnest, back at the end of September, Milt had discovered CamelBak water reservoirs on Amazon that he thought were a good idea. They were like mini backpacks that held a liter of water. He’d bought one for each of them, orange for him (his favorite color) and lime green for Billy.
Billy bit and sipped from the tube that connected to the pack’s reservoir and felt a pang of deep gratitude. It was great to have an almost constant supply of water, while keeping one’s hands free. It was also great to simply be surrounded by the ethereal beauty of the mountains rising up, San Jacinto just before them, crowned with rock outcroppings and topped with pines. Billy felt a spiritual connection with the mountains. There was a force, mysterious and powerful, that emanated from them, their thousands-of-years-old secrets encompassing the wisdom of the whole world.
Billy was grateful that the best things in life didn’t cost a thing.
And he couldn’t discount the beauty, the happy joy of the man and the dog clambering up the mountainside a couple hundred feet away.
Billy removed his baseball cap to wipe the sweat from his brow, to break up his matted-down hair, before putting the cap back on. He started up after Milt and Ruby, calling, “Wait up!” and laughing.
Ruby had turned out to be the most energetic of the three of them. She could race up and down mountain trails with all the agility and energy of a goat or a bighorn sheep. Milt stopped to watch her, and Billy came to stand beside him.
He was surprised when Milt laid an arm casually across his shoulders. The touch sent a tingle through Billy that sparked all the way down to his toes.
“She’s come so far since I brought her home from the shelter when I first got here. Look at her go!” Milt laughed, and the sound was like music to Billy.
Milt’s gaze focused on the dog, while Billy took in Milt’s profile peripherally. Billy liked seeing the simple joy on Milt’s face and the sun-reddened ridge across his nose and cheekbones.
“Did I ever tell you that, for nearly a week after I brought her home, she’d hide under the bed almost twenty-four seven? I had to coax her out with round steak and broiled chicken. Smart of me! I spoiled her right off the bat. Now she won’t eat anything but.
“But God, she was a scared thing. I’d lift my hand to pet her and she’d cower, tail between her legs, terrified eyes looking at me, just begging. It broke my heart.”
Billy watched the dog gallop around and thought that Milt could be describing another creature entirely. This girl was so sure of herself, so full of joy. He asked Milt, “Aren’t you afraid she’ll run away?”
