Page 57 of Torn
I didn’t know if it was finding out Walt came from money that disturbed me so much. Class difference was a real thing. I never imagined I was afflicted with it, but maybe I was. Maybe I was some sort of reverse snob. Perhaps I identified more strongly with my working-class roots than I realized, and maybe in them I saw things I liked—a certain salt-of-the-earth worldview.
Or it could be that I simply felt Walt had deceived me a little in Europe, coming across as an itinerant traveler, happy-go-lucky and without a care—or a penny—to his name. But I had to allow for the fact that I was simply romanticizing him. Perception is reality, right?
I sighed. I was here now, so I should try and make the most of it. Put on a brave face. Maybe I would surprise myself. Perhaps Walt would surprise me.
It was then I spied the pay phone at the corner of the building. It wasn’t a full-fledged booth, more just a phone built into the faded-wood wall, with a ledge beneath it. Beyond that was a trash can.
I threw my stuff away and picked up the phone’s receiver. Hung it back up. Groped around in my pockets and realized I didn’t have change.
Obviously, I needed to get moving and head back to the house where Walt waited. I’d been gone long enough as it was.
I turned and headed back into the store to ask for change from the cashier. See how I listen to my head over my heart?
As I used the old-fashioned dial on the pay phone, I hoped I had successfully remembered Tom’s number.
He answered in a couple of rings.
“You’re home.” I laughed with relief and with the joy that came from hearing his hello.
“Yeah, I called in sick today.”
My heart sped up just a bit. “Is everything okay?”
“I’m fine. My car’s another story.”
Tom drove a red Sentra in a souped-up sports edition.
“Oh no! What happened?”
He laughed. “I went out to the Eagle last night and had a few too many. Ended up playing pinball with a few parked cars on Clark.”
My stomach dropped, and I didn’t know what to say. Red flags popped up around my head the way stars do in cartoons when someone takes a blow to the head.
Red flag number one:You were out at the Eagle as soon as I left town?There are probably fifty or more gay bars in Chicago a guy could go to, if a guy simply wanted a drink. I wondered why Tom picked the one that was the most notorious for cruising and its sleazy back room.
Red flag number two:You were drinking and driving?
Red flag number three:You hit a bunch of parked cars… and you’re laughing about it?
I suddenly found that maybe I should have followed my first inclination, which was not to call him. After all, I was visiting another guy, even if I had downplayed the visit to Tom, who obviously wasn’t missing metoomuch. I felt twin surges of anger and jealousy.
My thoughts had kept me from speaking long enough for Tom to ask, “You still there?”
“Yeah,” I answered, stretching out the word.
“I’m okay,” he repeated. “In case you were worried.” Until that moment, I wouldn’t have guessed Tom was capable of sarcasm.
“I’m glad, really. What made you want to go out on a school night?” I felt a little sick to my stomach. I lit another cigarette.
“I missed you.” He laughed. “Why do you ask?” He was quiet for a moment. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”
“I’m not,” I lied.
“Because if you were, get that thought out of your fuckin’ head. I went out because, truly, I missed you and I felt lonely.Nothorny. Lonely. There’s a difference. I played some pool, ran into some guys I knew from the South Side.”
I didn’t say anything.
“If you’re jealous, remember that you left my ass so sore I needed a rest.” He laughed.
