Page 46 of Torn
I thought, as he had, that maybe I should try not to appear too eager. After all, weren’t things better if you had to work at them to get them? Didn’t they always say that delaying gratification made the reward all the sweeter? So I said, “I’m not doing anything tonight.”
“Perfect. I’ll come by in a couple hours. You’re not too far from Leona’s, right? We can go to dinner.” He took in a breath. “And then come back to your place for dessert. I’m in the mood for something cream filled.”
“Lord, man. You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Hope not. I have lots of plans for you.”
“Okay, sounds good. I’ll be outside waiting for you in a couple of hours, okay? You get off at the Jarvis Avenue stop.”
“Got it. Address?”
And I gave it to him willingly. Along with, I was afraid, a piece of my heart. Labor Day, and Walt, were already fading fast in my memory.
I was giddy with anticipation. I dropped my clothes as I headed for the bathroom.
ONE OFthe things I loved most about my apartment on Fargo Avenue, in the far-north neighborhood of Rogers Park, was that it was old. As in, vintage. It had a history—and the writer in me could imagine all the stories, lives, and ghosts that had passed through my living space throughout the many decades it had stood. Sometimes I thought I could feel those lives around me. One day, I thought maybe I’d write a book and call itApartment 202and write a chapter for each decade, shining a spotlight on the joys and tragedies that had taken place within the walls of my apartment. Maybe it would be bestseller.
But being old also had drawbacks, though not many. Back around the turn of the century, they built these places to last. I may have had to put up with no electrical outlets in the bathroom and separate hot- and cold-water spigots, but I had a lovely, deep porcelain claw-foot tub to soak in, which I did in anticipation of Tom’s arrival. I scrubbed carefully, getting into every nook and cranny because I knewhewould get into every nook and cranny. I’d learned fast that our Tom was a thorough man.
After I dried off and dressed in a pair of camouflage cargo shorts, a black tank, and combat boots, I went out onto another part of the old, decrepit apartment I simply adored—its balcony. I sat down on the wide redbrick and concrete-topped edge to look down over the street as I smoked a cigarette and watched for Tom. The balcony had been a major selling point when I’d first looked at the apartment a couple of years ago. The L train was right next door, so it wasn’t the quietest spot in the universe. But it also looked out on my tree-lined street. In fact, almost directly in front of the balcony, separated only by the cracked sidewalk below, was a large maple tree. Now that it was summer, it was heavy with verdant leaves that whispered in the breeze and softened the rumble of the L a few feet away. Dead-ending at Paulina Avenue a block to the west, Fargo was pretty, lined with old brick-courtyard apartment buildings in yellow or red. They made me feel I was not only part of a real community in this sprawling metropolis, but also like I was part of a history. I often imagined the many lives that had been played out on this block. There was a quaint neighborhood feel that made me content with my home.
My heart gave a little lurch, and I smiled. There Tom was, walking up Ashland Avenue, presumably fresh off the L train that was just now rumbling into Howard Street, the North Side terminus for the Red Line.
Tom was unaware he was being watched, and I was grateful for the chance to observe him. Although I too was done up in “gay clone” attire, I bristled a bit at how flamboyantly he was dressed—in faded Daisy Dukes, construction-worker boots, and a flannel shirt that he’d cut the sleeves off of and left open almost to his navel, to better show off, I assume, the thick mat of fur there. Itwassexy, I had to admit, but it also screamed “flaming homosexual,” and in my neighborhood, with its mixture of ethnicities, gangs, and thugs, I feared for his safety.
I also feared for his common sense.
Despite being a little apprehensive about how Tom dressed, like a gay hooker fantasy straight out of Tom of Finland or, perhaps, Falcon Studios, I was charmed and a little aroused by the sight of him. Even from where I sat on my balcony, I saw a sweet wistfulness and anticipation on his face. I imagined he viewed my neighborhood in a different way than I did, focusing on the trees, the grass, the smell of Lake Michigan a few blocks over, instead of the flaws I couldn’t avoid picking up on during my trek home from work every day—the gang tags, the litter (including used needles and condoms) in the gutters, the weed-choked cement of the sidewalks.
In short, I suspected, with little good reason other than intuition, that Tom was a happy fellow because the lens through which he processed the world was a rose-colored one.
And maybe he had the right idea. After all, the world was really not a place of blacks and whites or good and evil. The world justwas. We humans, with our egos and endlessly busy minds, assigned the meanings.
It wasn’t long before he approached my front door. I didn’t want him to ring the buzzer. It emitted a loud and shrill mechanical bark that always sent AJ scurrying under a piece of furniture. It also was useless as a two-way communication system (press a buzzer and hear a Charlie Brown teacher voice come out of the speaker!), which is a large part of the reason I often perched on the edge of this very balcony near the time I knew guests might arrive.
Little secret—being up here in the trees, also allowed me to rate hookups I’d met via the phone-sex lines, to see if the way they’d described themselves was accurate. If it wasn’t, I could simply turn out the lights and wait until they went away. I know what you’re thinking—“You’re terrible, Muriel.” But hey, if a man describes himself as having a swimmer’s build on the phone and doesn’t bother to mention he means Shelley Winters inThe Poseidon Adventure, he deserves to be stood up.
“Hey you!” I leaned over the balcony’s edge to look down at the top of his head, thick with curly auburn hair.
He seemed a little startled and then peered up, squinting, to locate from where my voice was coming. When he saw me, his face practically glowed, breaking into a radiant smile that was one part relief and the other joy, with perhaps a little desire mixed in. Well, maybe more than a little.
“Ricky!” he cooed.
“Hang on, I’ll buzz you up. Just come to the second floor.”
I turned to go inside. When I opened the balcony door, AJ rushed out, and I was grateful once more he was a cat smart enough not to try a leap off the ledge. He jumped up and then sat, enjoying the dusky breeze and licking his paws while yet another L train passed behind him. He was used to their rumble and spark, a true city feline.
After remotely unlocking the vestibule door, I listened as Tom lumbered up the stairs.
I threw open the door and smiled. He bustled in, smelling of whiskey and cigarettes, and gathered me in his arms, kicking the door closed behind him as he did so. He kissed me so deeply and passionately, I forgot all about my resolution to tell him to button up his shirt before we headed out to dinner. In fact, it wasn’t long before I was unbuttoning that same shirt even farther. Once I had it open, I went to work on his nipples, making him laugh, squirm, and yip. I worked my way down his body, my tongue caressing every hirsute inch.
He pulled back a little and, panting, grinned down at me.
“You sure know how to welcome a guy!” I could see from the bulge in his shorts that he was definitely not complaining. I thought it better not to mention that I had lots of practice giving out exactly this kind of welcome.
Instead, I took his hand and led him into my bedroom. We didn’t say a word as our clothes floated magically into the corners of the room. I’d hoped maybe this time I’d get to see how versatile Tom could be, but he had other ideas. In no time at all, he was on his knees on the edge of my bed, and I was poised standing behind him, drilling into him as though tomorrow might never arrive.
We paused only once, to allow Tom to switch from all fours onto his back, legs in the air, while I continued to stand. I had to do a lot of the work, but this isnotme complaining.
