Page 30 of Torn
“What happened to Wales? I thought you were headed down there for a while.”
He smiled, staring off for a moment into the darkness. “I started that way, but instead of focusing on the simple beauty of that countryside, I couldn’t get the simple beauty of you lying naked on sun-drenched sheets in London out of my head.”
“Oh, you are so corny. So full of shit.” I frowned.
“There you go again, unable to take a simple compliment. Whether you know it or not, you are a beautiful man, and quite capable of worming your way into a guy’s head and staying there. The truth is, I thought I could escape you, but you’re like an earworm. The harder I tried not to think about you, the more prominent you became in my thoughts.” He shrugged and went on, “I knew you were coming back to London, knew in general where you were staying, and, of course, I have my trump card.”
He reached into his back pocket and took out his worn leather wallet. From it, he extracted a little slip of paper. “Ta-da. The phone number you gave me for the friend you’re staying with. I was going to call in the morning.”
“You were?” I felt delight that even I had to admit was a little out of proportion. He was just a man, for Christ’s sake.
“I was. I was going to call and see if I could interest you in a proper fry-up.”
“Fried eggs, bacon, sausages, tomato, mushrooms,” I rattled off what I could remember.
“Exactly. But obviously fate had other plans in store for us. It didn’t want us to wait so long.” He took my hand and, understanding my reticence about public displays of affection, held it out of sight beneath the wood slats of the bench upon which we were sitting. “You look nice. Were you off to the pubs?”
I thought I could see a little weakness around his lips, perhaps even a little fear. Then it dawned on me. “You’re not jealous, are you?”
He shook his head, and I spotted the lie as easily as I could see the neon sign across the way from us, advertising Cornish pasties.
“Yeah, I was headed out to a drag show, a few pints.”
Walt let go of my hand. “I should let you go.”
“Oh no!”
He smiled. “Maybe you want a little company? I’ve yet to see a drag show over here. Let’s go see how the Brits do it.”
“I sincerely doubt they do it much different than us Americans. Men gusseted and corseted. Tons of eye shadow and mascara. Lip gloss for days. Sequins. And lip synching to Gloria Gaynor or Liza Minelli. Besides, I have a better idea.” I thought of the empty flat and of Boutros telling me not to wait up for him.
“Oh?” Walt’s grin was joyful… and a little wicked. “I’m so glad because I’m at a youth hostel. No privacy whatsoever.”
“So let’s go.” And I took his hand to lead him away.
I wasn’t about to be daunted by, and certainly not judged by, the court of public opinion. It was a dangerous thought, but what the hell? If someone didn’t like the sight of two men holding hands, that was their problem, not ours.
Still, I hoped the two of us would make it back to Trevor’s flat intact.
I had plans in store for us, and they required us being, er, well, intact.
I OPENEDthe door to the flat to reveal slatted beams of light falling across the carpeted floor. I liked to think of them as moonbeams gone expressionistic, but they were just the light seeping in between Trevor’s cheap mini blinds, half-open. There was a kind of noirish beauty to the image.
I also imagined that Walt and I were a couple, returning to our home after a constitutional around the neighborhood. This place could be the apartment we’d moved into shortly after we’d first met on a street in Brighton. We’d moved in together much too soon, against all reason, but we’d done it anyway because it felt so right. And now our home was as comfortable as a pair of old slippers.
We’d lived and loved here long enough to be totally at ease—television and bowls of ice cream in the evenings. Bickering in the morning over who got to use the bathroom first. The endless debate over whether we should get a dog or a cat.
A happy, homely domestic life played out in moments, even though it was years long, fashioned from holidays, tears, laughter, and caresses. It made me both sad and warm at the same time.
And the best part was that we werenotsuch an old couple that the fires within us had died down much. There was still a lot of passion. And even if we were an old couple, we defied the odds, still finding each other thrilling even after many years together.
But the passion wasn’t hard to fake, or fake at all, really, because it was here in spades, like a third presence in the darkened room. I couldn’t wait to feel Walt’s naked skin against my own.
I turned and, through the gloom, saw him reaching for the light switch.
“No,” I said softly. “Leave it off. I don’t feel like light. I don’t feel like talking.”
Wisely, Walt made no response at all, other than a small sigh, as he leaned against the front door, waiting for me to make my next move.
