Page 26 of Torn
“Have you been to Boston?” Walt asked.
“No. It’s one big American city I’ve never visited, except through hanging out with the regulars at Cheers.” I grinned.
“Well, maybe you can come up and see me sometime. I’d love to show you around. I have a friend who has a gorgeous place up in New Hampshire; we could head up there for the weekend. It’s a big secluded house with a pool, and we’d have it all to ourselves.”
“That would be amazing. I’d love that.” I wondered how I could afford it and when I could find the time, since I’d used up all of my vacation days for the year on this very trip. I’d find a way, even if I had to quit my job. I was thinking of going freelance anyway.
Walt groped around in the glove compartment until he found a small spiral-bound notebook. He wrote down his home phone and home address, along with his email. I took it and returned the favor.
“I’m glad you see a bit of a future for us.”
“We can’t see what the future holds,” Walt said. “But I do hope you’re in mine, Ricky.”
“Me too.” I had to bite my tongue from asking if he was sure he couldn’t stay. “I guess I should be getting inside.”
Walt gave me a long kiss. “And I guess I should be hitting the road.”
“You drive very well on the left side.”
“Thanks.”
We looked at each other for a long moment. Despite the exchange of contact information, I really wasn’t sure we’d see each other again. Yes, I felt a shiny bit of limerence for this man. Yes, I desperately wanted to see us together somewhere in the future. But I was jaded enough to know that moments like this promised nothing. If I had a nickel for every guy I’d brought home from the bars in Chicago, thinking the next morning as I smiled sleepily at him over pancakes at Buddy’s that we might have a future and then never hearing a word again, I’d be a rich man, traveling first class.
So I tempered my expectations. My head sang a Doris Day song to my heart, “Que Sera, Sera.” And my heart almost bought it. Almost.
“Bye, Walt. Have fun on the rest of your journey. And I hope you meet no one like me.”
“That’s not possible.”
I got out of the car and turned to give a small wave. I watched Walt drive away, trying to hold on to the belief that we’d be together again, that he wouldn’t meet someone else on some street in Wales, someone with whom he’d exchange a mouthful of beer.
Chapter 9
“I’M WORNout.” I glanced over at Boutros next to me on the train.
“Color me surprised, kitten.” Boutros’s voice was loaded with sarcasm. “We should probably have gotten you some Depends. I’m sure your rectum is all but prolapsed.”
I rolled my eyes. You might be asking yourself, “This is his best friend? I’d hate to see what an enemy looks like.” “Come on, be nice.” I stared out at the summer day flashing by in shades of blue, yellow, green.
We were headed back to London for three more days.
“Be nice? And what would that accomplish? Then I’d simply be like everyone else in your dreadful life. Mediocre.” Boutros belied his words with a kind smile. He really didn’t need to. I knew his cruel barbs meant that he loved me—character assassination, snide remarks, and bald cruelty had been our way of communicating through all the years we’d known each other. It was the currency of our affection. I’d be worried if Boutroswasn’tbeing unkind.
“You’re right. I’d probably hate you. Well, at least more than I already do.” I returned his kind smile, sweetening it even more.
“We had quite a time, didn’t we?” Boutros patted my hand.
“Oh, honey, that’s for sure. And you don’t even know everything I did!” I’d yet to tell him about the buggery on the River Avon and the blasphemous fellatio performed at St. Laurence’s. Somehow, I liked having these secrets to myself. Keeping them hidden away made them somehow more precious.
“I have to commend you.”
“For what?”
Boutros was quiet for a moment. “For keeping your hands off Teddy. Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done if you’d slept with him. I suspect this little trip would have been over at that point. And I would have loved you no more. There’s only so much sluttiness I can tolerate before I draw a line.”
“Your concerns aside, I don’t know whatPhilipwould have done.” There’d been some tension in the little apartment, especially yesterday afternoon, when I took off my shirt in front of everyone in the living room in preparation for heading into the shower. Honest to God, the removal of my shirt wasnotmeant to be provocative. But hell, I might as well have had a stripping soundtrack as far as Teddy was concerned. His eyes practically bulged, and I suspect he barely held in the drool. Somewhere in his imagination, Oscar Peterson was playing “Night Train” on his piano. Teddy seemed ready to cry out, “Take it off! Take it all off!”
Instead, he said, “Ooh, look at all that fur!” He pointed to my mat of dark chest hair. “Lovely.”
