"I hope you know where you're going," he said, buttoning his seatbelt. I'd forgotten to remind him to do that. He had a terrible habit of jumping in the car, riding a few miles, then remembering the setbelt. "I only know midtown, downtown, Buckhead and Kennesaw."
"Well, I've been around longer," I said. He sighed and lit a cigarillo. "It's not that far now."
"So, do they have some kind of discount for the man who has to gas his car everyday between driving to work and to get him some every night?"
"See, that's the thing. You want me to leave your town because you think someone might recognize me. We can't go to my town because someone might recognize you. If we go downtown, I might bump into a patient that know us both, my secretary or even your father. Although I don't think anyone in your town will be familiar with me." I pulled up in front of the restaurant.
"My roommate's going out tonight," he said, eating the last bite of his manicotti. "You want to go back to my place?"
"Yes," I replied with no pause. He washed back some food with the glass of water on the table and wiped his mouth with the napkin. He looked up at me as he placed it on his lap.
"Why won't you just eat when you're with me?" he asked. I didn't notice he was talking for a second. "Paul?" I looked up. "Why won't you eat when you're with me?"
"I eat," I said.
"You don't. You just sit and stare at me. It's like you're waiting for something." He seemed disappointed.
"Who isn't waiting for something?" He continued staring. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair just enough for me to know that someone might be offended by such terrible posture in this restaurant.
"I'm not waiting for a damned thing," he argued. He sat back up and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "Except for you to take me home so I can get some sleep."
"Get some sleep?" I asked. I had an immediate wish to take back my obvious anger. I tried to play it off. "I'm sure you're very tired, yes. Working the way you do. Why don't you take some time off?"
"Why, so I'm a little more accessible when you want to fuck me?" I noticed a woman at the table next to us turn and stare at him for a second.
"Maybe we should call it a night," I said. I summoned the waiter.
"We should definitely call it a night," he agreed.
I never drive with the radio on. I can't stand it when people do. It's a very distracting device that ought to be kept at the home. For example, you wouldn't want someone's computer or television up on the dashboard where they can work or watch their favorite TV show while driving down the intestate, although many people have managed to work these items into their car in some manner. Sydney can't sit still unless the radio's on.
He sat up and flipped throughout the stations rapidly, not pleased with anything he was hearing. He finally stopped on some alternative station, then turned up a band I would later know as Linkin Park as loud as he could possibly manage. I leaned over and turned it off.
"I need to concentrate to drive," I said. He looked at me, staring. I continued looking ahead, although I could feel his stare burning into my neck. He leaned over and turned it back on. I had forgotten to turn it down before I turned it off. "God dammit, Syd!" I shouted. I leaned over and turned off the radio. He simply turned it back on. I pushed his shoulder and turned it off. "If you don't stop fucking with..." he pushed my shoulder, much harder than I pushed him, forcing me into the next lane. I nearly hit another car. "Sydney..."
"Fuck you!" he yelled, moving back over to his side of the car. The lights of a police car flashed in my rearview. I pulled off of the road.
"For four months worth of dating, you'd think we'd have worked these things out."
"Fuck you," he began. I was irritated that he wouldn't let me talk. "Work what things out? Do you even know why I'm angry?" I shrugged. I knew how angry shrugging made him. "You want the privacy as much as I do, you know. You can quit blaming me for having to drive long distances in order to be with me. You can quit making the bad things in this arrangement my fault."
"Arrangement?"
"Yes. Because it's obviously not a relationship. If it were, we'd be a lot further along."
"How so?" I heard the door slam of the officer's car.
"Well, I'd know how you feel about me. You'd know how I feel about you." The officer was walking in that condescending manner to my car. Slowly. Calculated. Every step intended to embarrass you to the other drivers.
"And how is that?"
"You're fucking retarded if you can say you don't know."
"I don't know." He stared at me for a second. I could feel his heart racing between his darting eyes and his gulp. Mine was racing. The officer tapped the glass with his night stick.
"I love you," Sydney said. I nodded in approval as I rolled down the window.
"No fucking seatbelt," Sydney said under his breath as we entered his home. There was no sign of his room mate. "I'd think he would ticket you for my not wearing a seatbelt."
"Whatever. Don't let your father see the ticket. Otherwise he'll know we were together." Syd offered me a seat in his den while he went to the kitchen to make martinis. "Where are you getting your alcohol?"
"My father purchases it for me. All I have to do is ask." I heard him shaking them up in the kitchen. "My ice is from the maker, so it's probably a little harsh. We should've stopped at the gas station and gotten some cocktail ice."
"It's OK, I don't know anything about a martini."
"You will, if you hang out with me." He entered the room carrying two glasses. He poured the alcohol for me. "Did that thing ever heal up on your back?"
"I can't see it," I said. "Wife keeps trying to take the bandages off."
"I can't believe she really thought you scratched yourself on clothes hangers."
"Her English is still shit. She probably doesn't know what a clothes hanger is." Sydney sat down next to me on the couch and quickly drank the entire contents of his glass. "Thirsty?"
"Martini's go down very smoothly," he said. I nodded and sipped mine. He chuckled. He reached over and began to slowly unbutton the front of my shirt. He then pulled it off and placed his hand on my bare shoulder. He forced me to sit up slightly so that he could see my back. "Turn around," he said. "I'm going to take this bandage off." He pulled at the edges slowly, trying not to cause me any harm. As he pulled down the edge he made a disagreeable sound. "You're going to want me dead when you see this."
"Scars are cool," I said, smiling. "And this is an especially good story."
"I was way overdue on my manicure, it looks like." He leaned over and placed his lips against the scars on my back. "These will heal up better, I'm sure," he whispered, kissing up and down my spine. "Maybe you'll have little white scars. Maybe none at all." He kissed the back of my neck and rested his head on my shoulder. "I really do love you, ya know." I sighed and looked down and my glass.
"I love you, too," I said. I then finished off my drink.