Page 15 of Character Flaws
Chapter Five
Joey
Steer clear of drama queens
I have to admit, dinner was pretty damn tasty.
Theo wasn’t kidding when he said he could cook. He made some Asian dish, with plenty of zesty flavors, noodles and vegetables. By that point I was thanking my lucky stars I’d wound up locked out of my apartment, considering it was probably another dinner of Cornflakes and a stale blueberry bagel from last week.
I’m not even sure I have milk in the fridge that didn’t expire in May.
We’d finished clearing the dishes and wiping down the kitchen when we’d decided the chilled bottle of a no-name rosé was just what the doctor ordered. It sat unopened in Pat’s fridge and would be just the thing to cool us down, as the temps were still hovering in the high-eighties even after the sun was long gone.
Such is summer time in Chicago. The air is humid and thick, ripe with sweat and rage that pours over the city like a thick, damp cloak. In fact, if you haven’t heard, that’s what Chicago is known for – besides the Cubbies, the Lake and Oprah – the highest number of shootings and deaths that pile up between the months of May and September.
There’s something in the heat that brings out the monster in many.
It’s yet another reason my mother insists that I move back home, even though my apartment is in a secure building and relatively safe neighborhood. She thinks because I’m without a tough, brute of a man in my life, there’s the constant threat of being picked up by a weirdo.
What she doesn’t know is I’ve done that just by the dating disasters I’ve had in the last year alone.
I have a tendency of attracting strange men. Maybe I’m cursed.
Or just very unlucky. So maybe hanging out with Pat’s gay lover isn’t so crazy after-all. At least I know he won’t make a move on me. Or ask to see my belly button and then ask for the lint from it. Kid you not, this guy I met online halfway through dinner tells me he has a bellybutton obsession and keeps lint from the girl’s he sleeps with.
I told him I was lint free and got up and walked out.
Theo and I have been lounging out on Pat’s small balcony for the last fifteen minutes, feet propped up on the railing, overlooking the scene below. Pat’s apartment, although just next door to me, is a corner unit and has all the amenities, including two-bedrooms.
My little one-bedroom is a middle unit and is less desirable, but still nice, considering I’m able to live in a high-rise apartment even on my miniscule teacher’s income. Thankfully my dad’s inheritance to me and insurance money from his death helps me afford my rent.
“I don’t think you’ve told me what you do for a living,” I prod, hoping to learn more about this guy that I’ll be spending the night with. “You briefly mentioned you’re without a permanent residence. So, what’s the scoop?”
Over the last few hours I feel I’ve divulged everything there is to know about my life, but have gotten very little out of Theo. Not that he doesn’t share, it’s just that he’s an awfully good listener.
He shifts a little uncomfortably in his seat, takes a sip of his wine, and slowly turns his chin my direction.
“Well, you could say I’m a jack of all trades. I hustle for a living every day as a playwright and actor. I’ve worked as a janitor, a short-order cook, a waiter, a stage director, a voice-over actor, a bank teller and now can add house sitter and dog walker to my resume.”
He pauses and gives me a wink. “And we both know how I fair at the last job.”
Something passes through me from the low, sexy voice he uses. And while I laugh easily with him, I feel this unusual pull deep inside my belly. I haven’t had that feeling in a long time. Sadly, my body has missed it so much, it’s apparently gone haywire and doesn’t understand that an attraction to a gay man is a one-sided option. I don’t possess the kind of equipment he’s looking for.
And then to make matters worse, he leans over the side of his chair and gently and tenderly tucks a loose curl behind my ear. The contact is alarmingly sensual and I jolt in my seat. He did this earlier when I was lying on the couch. I had to clench my thighs together both times and hope he doesn’t notice the trail of goose bumps his touch generated.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, pulling himself back to center himself on his seat. The distance is now a noticeable gap between us. “I get a little touchy-feely when I drink wine.”
“Hmm. No problem.”
If only it meant the same to him as it does to me.
I try redirecting our conversation to take my mind off the way my cheek still feels the ghost of his fingertips that brushed against my face. Calloused and soft at the same time.
“Playwright and actor, huh? That’s so cool. Tell me more about it. Have you written or starred in anything I would know?”
He laughs good-naturedly, either because he hasn’t or he doesn’t think I’m theater savvy. Which is a true statement. I once sawThe Music Manwhen my mom took me to the local community theater when I was eight. And I did take in a performance ofThe Book of Mormonon Broadway when my college friend, Elizabeth and I went to New York a few summer’s ago.
“I’m a working actor, so I’ve performed in a shit-ton of stage performances. Last March I was cast in the principal role of Paul inBarefoot in the Park, but have also acted in ensemble parts in some Shakespeare plays. But I absolutely love Neil Simon’s plays. He’s just a genius when it comes to writing the perfect anti-hero. I’d say if I had to pick someone I admired and looked up to in this profession, it would be Neil.”
