What You Won't Do for Love, Chapter 3 By JoshBabe joshbabe22@hotmail.com
This work contains depictions of homosexuality. If that is illegal in your jurisdiction, please, do not continue reading this.
This work is copyright (c) 2001 by JoshBabe. You may download and keep an unlimited number of copies for personal use, but this work may not be used under any circumstances without the prior consent of the author with the exception of a personal copy. Aesthetic changes (font size, font face, whitespace) do not constitute a change that requires the author's permission; any non-whitespace changes to the actual text of the story require prior permission.
WHAT YOU WON'T DO FOR LOVE, CHAPTER THREE
I left you hanging with a kiss. That's the worst kind of cliffhanger. I'll recap briefly before I go on.
Alex and I were indeed at the same party, so I interviewed him for the newspaper. I learned all sorts of new things about him, and afterward I admitted to myself that I had a crush on him. While I was talking with Meredith after the interview, I decided to come out to her. Unfortunately, in the doorway of the patio where I told her were Jessica and Alex. I panicked and bolted to my car. As it turns out, they didn't overhear, but as a result of my desperate marathon I now had to tell them and Ira. So I did. They took it pretty well, Jessica and Ira; Alex, though, had disappeared, and snuck into my car. Before I knew it, we were kissing. My three closest friends could only stand around the car and applaud.
So at some point, time started moving again, and the colossal sensation of kissing ended, and there I was, in the car -- like Mom said, not in the back seat -- with the most gorgeous guy in the universe, and my three closest friends are happy for me. Then, the realization of what I had done hit me. I had just betrayed Julie's trust. With a guy. One I hardly even knew.
All those sentiments disappeared when I kissed him again. I figured, he got to start the last one... it was my turn. It was the most unbelievable experience kissing him, like floating on a cloud with all the worldly cares below. And I had a lot of worldly cares on my mind, so he was, you can tell, an awfully good kisser.
I guess we were getting pretty involved, because I was kind of reclined up against the door when Ira laughed. He said to us, through the window -- which was still open -- "This is not a public place, you too, and while it's not Cheyenne, it's not exactly San Francisco either. I would go find yourselves a room somewhere."
Alex pulled away from me, and instantly I began to blush. Was I really kissing a guy in public?
Oh, and what the hell was I going to tell Julie? It's not like everyone goes to their girlfriend, at some point, and says, "I'm leaving you because I'm into guys lately."
On the plus side of things, it'd be easier than telling her, "I'm leaving you for another woman," because that wasn't a biological question.
So now I had this major decision to make -- what to do about Julie -- and all that would come to mind was: I still have Ira's sodas in my trunk. I got out of the car, and got the sodas out and started carrying them into Ira's. Everybody else pitched in -- I'd bought, like, 5 or 6 24-packs of soda -- and it took us almost no time to get them into the house. That was good, because I needed to talk to Alex. Soon.
Once everything was inside Ira's, I asked Alex if he'd be willing to come with me and we could talk.
"Sure." He tried to look happy but only looked anxious. That pretty well summed up how I felt, too.
I went around saying some quick goodbyes, and then met back up with Alex by the front door. I refused to look him in the eye, so I didn't embarrass us both in front of the entire world.
He whispered, "Where do we meet?" Actually, it wasn't really a whisper, being that it was a noisy party, but you get the idea.
Fair enough question, anyway. Where do two guys get together to talk about a romantic situation at midnight? On top of all that, it needed to be somewhere where we wouldn't get caught (it turns out that Alex was still 17, which was good because otherwise having sex would have meant statutory rape for him) breaking curfew. I thought for a moment, and then it came to me. You see, there was some land on the other side of the hill from my house that was unused. We'd always discussed selling it to Metro, the local tri-county authority in charge of maintaining things, for parkland. In typical Fletcher fashion, we'd never gotten around to doing it. It was still ours.
There was a path that led up to it, so that we could avoid my mom, who would embarrass me by giving me a pack of condoms or something. Not like there wasn't already one in the glove box -- thanks, Mom, but I have some in my cargos, too. One thing I will say for her, she was not going to let me get caught without protection. I swear to God, not many people can say their parents go overboard in that direction, you know? I guess, though, because I know I can, and she won't care, I've never had sex.
OK, so that's not entirely true. I've never gone "all the way", but I've had my fair share of blowjobs. Five or six, that is. Like I said, there's no "forbidden fruit" aspect to it; to me, it's about as exciting as masturbating, and carries a lot more emotional baggage.
I hate digressions, but I think you need to know that, because it'll explain a lot about some of the stuff that happened later.
Anyway. I knew Alex wouldn't know where it was, because from the street it looks like somebody's backyard. But it has a creek down there and a little mini-canyon (if it's small, I think it's called an arroyo) where we could go talk. It's pretty, it's quiet, and evidently it's romantic-- I got sucked off the first time down there, two years ago. I took a girlfriend down there; she was, like, totally unimpressed with me before, but I totally seduced her. Damn smooth, if I do say so myself.
"Alex? Do you know where that Forestdale Hills development is?"
He smiled at me. My knees buckled, but I leaned against the door to brace myself. "Yeah," I heard him say.
"Meet me down at the bottom there, and we can hike up to where we're going from there."
He nodded. I opened the door, and we walked out to our respective cars. I admired the Land Rover another time, hearing its 8-cylinder motor purr at me. He cut his lights on and cruised off, in the wrong direction. Oh, well, I'll get there first.
Once I was in the BMW, I cut the stereo on, just in time to catch the incomparable thrill of the guitar solo 6 minutes into "Stairway to Heaven" on KGON. (I apologize to whoever wrote that Visa-ripoff ad for 92.3; I really liked it, so I borrowed the material.) I mean, I don't even like Led Zeppelin, but I admit freely that it's an incredible solo. Right after that song, though, came the unmatched all-time best song in the existence of mankind -- well, no, that belongs to "Reeling in the Years" by Steely Dan, but this is a close second. It just perfectly described my state of mind. Eric Clapton's "Layla". The part that hit a note for me was:
Layla, got me on my knees,
Layla, begging, darling please,
Won't you ease my worried mind?
So here I was, putting the car in reverse and pulling out of Ira's, and I couldn't suppress the urge to open the sunroof and sing along. At midnight. In October. In Oregon. I'm lucky it wasn't raining.
Soon, I had the car in third, and I was cruising along much too rapidly for my own good. I made it there in about five minutes, but I had to wait at least ten minutes for Alex. About 12:15, I saw the blue Rover coming down the street. I waved madly, and when he stopped, parked, got out and came over and gave me a little chaste kiss and took my hand, I blushed like a girl.
"OK, so we need to talk, Josh," Alex told me, as we made our way through the nearly pitch-black path to the creek.
I nodded. "About what you heard tonight... what we did tonight..."
"Yeah?"
My hand shook in his. "Please don't tell anyone."
He gasped, and took his hand away from mine. When he said something, after a long pause, I could practically hear hurt dripping from his voice. I winced, but listened to him all the same.
"You're ashamed. I know you won't admit it, of course, but you don't want anyone to know that you're attracted to guys. Let me tell you something. You don't think I went out on a fucking limb, kissing you like that? Just listen to someone else besides your own thoughts, for once. I know I'm just another pretty, dumb jock, eye candy, but that doesn't preclude my having feelings.
"Ever since I met you, the first time -- you were just a freshman, but you'd come in to ask Mr. Sellis about something and we ended up having a conversation -- I've been in love with you. But of course, you don't remember that, I was just some dumb jock and you were untouchable. You were the freshman who was the star trumpet player. The best newspaper writer. Dating a sophomore cheerleader. Old Man Fletcher's nephew. You didn't need another jock to try and befriend.
"Well, I fell for you, and hard. I was straight, I had a girlfriend, I had a reputation, and all I could think about was how much I loved this kid who I barely knew. You know what 'fubar' means? It's army slang from World War II, means 'fucked up beyond any recognition'. I was fubared, and bad. I was depressed for three months. I almost fucking committed suicide when my girlfriend found out from my parents that I was depressed. They thought they were helping. They didn't know why I was depressed. I figured, she'll see right through it. I was practically on the abyss. And then tonight, when I fucking put my fate in your hands, all you have to say is 'don't tell anyone'. Like I'd ever tell a goddamned soul. Josh, I love you, and I have for the past year."
I looked over and I could see he was crying. I reached over to put my arm around his shoulder, but he pushed it away. So I turned, stood in front of him, and, starting to cry, said something. "Alex, I'm sorry. How could I ever have known?"
He paused a moment, and then nodded. "You're right, you couldn't've known. I'm sorry."
Then I did something that surprised even me. I stood up on my tiptoes, put my left arm around his neck and my right around his waist. I kissed him. I'm not nearly as good as he is but I tried my hardest. I could see the moon, crescent and waxing, out of the corner of my eye. It was as though it was giving a kind of natural, pagan blessing to what I felt blossoming inside of me.
Slowly we broke off the kiss. Then Alex pushed me up against a tree, careful not to hurt me. He started to kiss his way down my neck. I moaned and ran my fingers through that beautiful blonde hair. "Alex..."
His fingers were already under the waistband of my khakis, pushing. "Alex," I said, louder.
He stopped. "Yeah?"
"Don't. I'm not ready for this."
Two front teeth bit his lower lip. "OK. I can respect that. You need time." Then he gave me a nervous smile. "So. Where do we go from there? I mean, it's sort of customary to have sex before the after-sex talk."
It occurred to me that I was more aroused than I had ever been before. Alex's fingers teasingly pointed my arousal out to me. I blushed.
"You think that's bad? Look at me." He stood up and I saw the most unbelievable tent standing out, from his white pants. Talk about impressive sizing. He must have fun buying jock straps to run in.
So we just walked, hand in hand, erections slowly receding. We made small talk. Then I decided I might as well tell him about today -- or yesterday, rather. "Alex? I have something I should tell you about. But first I have a question. How long have you known you were attracted to guys?"
He paused. That seemed to be common enough tonight. Then I heard his voice. So melodious and beautiful. "This was really hard to admit to myself at first, but then again, it always is, I imagine. I had a crush on a friend of mine years ago, when I was in 7th grade. He was really cute, about my height then -- 5'5" -- brown hair, green eyes, thin, muscular, and with nice tan skin. The most striking feature was his high, well-defined cheekbones. His mom was a model. He could have been more than successful, too. He played soccer, and thought and talked about it all the time. I took up soccer to be with him. Then, he moved or changed schools or whatever, and we sort of drifted apart, you know? The only thing I have left is that playing soccer showed me how much I loved to run. I suppressed the entire episode, of course, until, that is, I met you."
I was thoroughly impressed, and totally flattered. But he earned extra brownie points when he said, "He was one of the most beautiful boys I've ever known. He looked a lot like you." He gave my hand a little squeeze. "OK, your turn now."
I took a deep breath. "I fell for a guy kind of by accident, too. I didn't even know him, but I saw him, and I knew that was it. He was tall, blonde, and handsome, with beautiful brown eyes and the most unbelievable taste in clothes. I think you know him better than I do. Anyway, I just came out to myself this morning -- well, yesterday morning -- during the Homecoming Assembly. I told my mom at dinner. I came out to my friends and hour ago."
He nodded and flashed me that gorgeous smile. "Who is he?"
"His name is Alex Wright."
I saw him stop dead in his tracks. "I did that? How? This morning?"
I let it sink in with a quick pause. "You got up and spoke at the assembly this morning. I interviewed you tonight, so I could meet you. Now, I've fallen for you."
As usual, watching him smile made an absolutely incredible sensation come over me. But this time, it was a little different. This was no adolescent lust, no schoolgirl-like infatuation. He was putting his heart into my hands. But I wasn't sure I was ready for it yet. After all, how long had I known I liked men? Less than 24 hours. He'd had years. But I needed to go slowly now. I didn't exactly know where I was headed or what I was doing, you know, and I had a girlfriend, and, if I wanted it, a boyfriend.
"But I need to tell you something. I'm not ready for this, Alex. You need to understand, I'm sort of on sensory overload, here. Not a good situation to be in. Give me some time to sort my life out and then we'll discuss this." I grasped his hand and held it. I felt the soft skin dampen with sweat. I looked at him in the dim light, strong and powerful in a pair of white drawstring khakis and a bright orange sweater. I'd made a mess out of his wonderful hair, but that only made it look better. Actually, in retrospect, I probably couldn't see him worth squat. Memory is a funny thing. You can play with the lighting, the depth of field, the focus, and make a perfect snapshot of the moment. If only I had a printer for that memory.
He finally heaved a deep breath and responded to my question. "Josh, I love you, and if it means waiting, if it means carrying boulders to the ends of the earth, I'll do it. I'll do it gladly, if it means a chance at your heart. That's all I ask for."
And that was that. If I hadn't just broken the heart of the most beautiful being in existence -- OK, that was a really shallow thing to call him, he was also really bright, and really sweet, but his beauty was what came through most clearly. Anyway. If I hadn't just broken his heart, I'd come awfully damn close. I felt terrible, but I couldn't bring myself to promise something I wasn't ready to give. There were too many loose ends to tie up. Julie. The rest of the universe. Then there was my family... and, God, Jackson. God save me from his uber-religious self-righteous preaching, if I ever had to tell him. What was I ever going to do?
I did the one thing that was still available to me. I started to sob. It came lightly at first, but soon enough I was getting pretty close to hysterical.
Once the dam broke and I felt myself falling over, firm, strong arms, suddenly caught me and I heard Alex's soothing voice. "It's OK, Josh, it's OK." He ran his fingers through my hair. It was already a mess, so it was OK. He cradled me against his chest. He kept up with his refrain softly, every so often, and after twenty or thirty minutes I started to believe him. By that time, the tears had stopped coming, and I just needed emotional support.
As we started to walk back to the cars, I heard him humming, and I recognized the song -- it was one of my mom's favorites, Bobby Caldwell's "What You Won't Do for Love".
"What you won't do,
Do for love...
You've tried everything,
But you won't give up.
In my world, only you
Would do for love
What I would not do.
My friends wonder what
Is wrong with me...
But I'm in a daze,
From your love, you see."
Softly I sang along, savoring the moment. He gave me a grin, and I smiled back. It was then that I knew what I needed more than anything else in the world. I needed a friend. Someone who understood what I was going through.
"Spend the night at my house. I have bunk beds, ... we'll sleep separately, of course. But I want to have time to talk to you."
He patiently heard me out and then nodded gravely. His forehead was wrinkled slightly. When he answered, though, there was no tension in his voice. "You need a friend, someone to help you through this. I understand. Lemme just call my parents, get some stuff, and I'll meet you at your place."
I nodded, smiled weakly and waved at him. I opened the door to the car and started it, heading off to my house. "Shakespeare in Love" came off the shelf and into the VCR. What an awesome feel-good flick. If you haven't seen it, I recommend you do so. Not the best movie I've ever seen -- that's "Almost Famous", but it hadn't come out when all this happened.
Sorry. As usual, digressions.
Once I located the DVD (my mom never, ever watches VHS anymore) I placed it in the player and went off to fix some quick snacks. Specifically, homemade popcorn, some strawberries with melted chocolate sauce, a few of the cookies I baked the previous weekend, and ice cream sundaes.
If I do say so myself, I would make a pretty good find for anybody. I mean, I can cook! That alone gives me value. But then again, when you live with a divorced mother, well, something is bound to rub off.
Soon enough, I heard a knock at the door. Good for him, he figured Mom would be asleep. I walked over to the door, opened it, and there he was. So beautiful. My resolve to not have sex with him -- at least tonight -- evaporated instantly. God! Stop! No getting aroused!
"I see somebody's happy to see me. Or at least, part of somebody," he told me. He leaned in and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "If it makes you feel any better, I wear boxer briefs so no one can tell I'm sharing the moment. It usually works."
We both laughed, and then he gestured at the bag and sleeping bag. "Where can I put these, man?"
"Uhh, just set 'em down in the entertainment area. Feel like a movie?"
"Of course," came the instant response.
I pondered. " 'Shakespeare in Love' or something a little more ... manly?"
He laughed. I was mildly hurt, but I kept an even face. "I'm OK with sensitive tonight, Josh. And I smell chocolate."
"They're strawberries in chocolate. Plus popcorn, cookies, and some other goodies."
"Damn, you are such a great find. Like striking gold. Hot, smart, sensitive, funny, and you can even cook! You know that's the best way to a man's heart."
I was mildly uncomfortable with this train of discussion, so I derailed us by asking, "After all this, are you still O.K. with me writing the focus?"
He ran his left hand through his hair. He was, I noted briefly, right-handed. I could tell, because the tips of his hair were overlapping his watch as he ran his hair through it. Cool. Diversity is good, and most of my friends were, like me, lefties.
"Why not?" He was radiant. "But if you're concerned about it, run a feature on someone else. Doesn't really matter to me, to be entirely honest. It's not like, with a year minus any females besides an occasional flirt, rumors aren't running already. I have nothing to lose. You do."
Fuck. I had forgotten about Julie again. I must have looked distressed, because he asked concernedly, "Josh? Is something the matter?"
I tried my hardest not to look concerned. "It's OK, man, really. I'm just kind of under the weather."
He nodded.
"Let's just start the movie." So we did, and got cuddly and close like two girls at a sleepover. I had the popcorn, and he had the strawberries, and we'd pass each other something occasionally. Every time lust flooded my system. I would miss the next few minutes of the movie, just gazing at him. I caught him stealing glances, too, a couple of times, and we laughed about it each time.
Once it was over, we laid down there, on the floor in our sleeping bags.
"So I have a good question for you, Josh, babe. How did a sophomore like you get to be the big man on campus?"
I thought about it for a minute, blushing furiously all the while. "You know what?" I said in the interim, while the little transistors and vacuum tubes in my mind worked away. "I like that nickname. Josh babe. I'll have to remember that."
While we waited, the sounds of a block of Dire Straits made their way out of the radio. Finally, I came up with a nearly adequate response. "First of all, I'm Old Man Fletcher's nephew, and both my parents went to this school. My name rang bells and opened doors and windows everywhere. My father edited the '75 New Frontier. My mom was the social studies department's darling. Both my uncles were valedictorians. But, of course, I do have some innate talent somewhere, although connections sure help."
He smiled and I felt the warmth radiate. "A lot of innate talent. But yes, connections always help."
After a moment, I glanced over at him. "So how 'bout you? You've got no meager accomplishments, yourself. How'd you get there?"
"A little talent and a lot of good looks. I've had a lot of sex to get where I am-- with both genders, where necessary. Never teachers, thank God. Whatever it takes, though." He grinned. "You looked scandalized. You've never done that?"
"Unless you count head as sex, I'm a virgin."
I heard him laugh. "If head is sex I'm the biggest stud -- and similarly, the biggest slut -- in the whole school. But head can't be sex. It's not a reciprocal act. Sex is."
I pointed at the wall, at an autographed photo of the President we had hanging on the wall. -- See, he'd met Mom and I as Forestdale's delegation when he came to Portland. They took a picture of us with him, shaking hands, and the next day, at a community meeting, he personally presented it to us and signed it. That was last fall. -- "Head can't be sex. The chief of state says it's not."
We both laughed.
"You know what's funny? People were pissed about the Starr report, but if they knew that would barely raise an eyebrow online, the Republicans would be banning the Internet right away," I pointed out with a grin.
But Alex laughed and then asked me, "You know what the difference between the Starr report and Net porn is?"
"What?"
"Net porn is composed of at least one good-looking individual."
Again, laughter all around. We were really on the same wavelength.
"OK, so, really, what sports do you play, Josh? I mean, I know it's not for a school team, but you've got such a nice, toned body, you can't possibly be a couch potato."
For a moment, I considered shrugging off the question, because the truth is really embarrassing, but lying is no way to make friends. "I road bike. Tight shorts, spandex, velcro and metal."
Alex licked his lips. Oh, fuck -- arousal alert. Just what I needed.
When Alex saw me, he smiled wistfully at me. "If only you'd let me take care of that," he mused.
"If I did, I'd have to -- well, no. It would be hard, in my current emotional state, to do that, Alex."
He just grinned again. "All the same, it would be fun, wouldn't it?"
"I don't think I've ever been so directly propositioned, Alex," I said in a shocked tone of voice. Mockingly, I continued, "Whatever would your parents say?"
"They don't know I'm gay."
That time, I really was shocked. "A year, at least, and you've never told them? My mom knew and hour and a half after I did."
"Your mom also has no problem with you having sex. My parents were shocked when one time Dad caught me jacking off."
Unfortunately for my already minimal self-resolve, the mental image of Alex jacking off was sure an enticing one. I was already seeing him naked (we still had our clothes on).
He continued, "Your mom is really different from my parents. Remember, they went to Kennedy, too, about the same time. Your mom was one of the hippies, if you will -- not like, trashy fast, but more like free love among friends." That much, she'd told me. "It never hurt her, so she figures it can't hurt you, as long as you're always protected; when did she first show you how to put on a condom?"
I thought a moment, trying to put my finger on a date. "Sixth grade. When I went on my first date. She also explained all sorts of slang to me, and concepts, so I'd know what to expect."
He nodded gravely. The usual twinkle in his eye was gone. "That's about when I had my first formal sex talk. I'd learned a good deal on the playground, of course, but my parents didn't know that. The last sentence of that talk was, 'Of course you know that your mother and I don't condone underage sex. In short, just say no.' The night before my first date, my sister -- she's now in college -- showed me how to put on a condom. She gave me hints, suggestions. So did her boyfriend, who was a secret from our parents.
"I showed Eric much the same thing when he went on his first date, because by that time, Lynn had left for college in New York," he added.
I had lost the point of all of this. "So what does that have to do with being gay? Not every gay person is promiscuous, just as not every straight person is," I said, reciting a piece of liberal catechism. "Socially, there's almost no difference in the two communities, with the obvious exception of sexism. The difference is wholly biological."
He started to cry softly while I was speaking. "Oh, my God, you're so lucky to live with normal beliefs." I cradled his head against my chest and softly stroked his hair. He kept on. "My parents view homosexuality as a choice, and immoral. They don't buy into the Biblical crap about it being a sin, but they're convinced homosexuals are out to rape their children and pervert society. They wouldn't take the news that their son was 'one of them' very well."
I sighed. "You can come live with me and my mom, and live a free-sex-among-friends existence."
He grinned through his tears. "One friend specifically." I blushed radiantly. "No, seriously, I wish I could, but I just can't, you know?"
"Now who's resisting?"
Guess who blushed.
"Actually, on the topic of my parents, you remember how I told you "The City and the Pillar" was my favorite book? Well, I actually had a pretty close call with that one. My parents found it when they were cleaning the house the day after I'd picked it up -- before I had started it. Luckily, I always bought my class reading books, so I told them it was for an English assignment. They got upset and decided to call the next morning and talk to Mr. Sellis. I ducked out early the next morning, in time for zero period, and begged him to help me out. He was the second person I ever came out to. He lied to my parents, and even told us that day in class that it would be our next reading assignment. I nearly burst with relief, when he said that. It was, like, he just saved me from certain death. I went in and thanked him the next morning, at least 50 or 60 times. Best damn teacher in the whole school."
I nodded gravely, not knowing what to say to that, except, "Well, now you have someone to talk to." I grasped his hand. He looked into my eyes and leaned in and kissed me. I pushed him back on the floor. I felt his chest as I lay on top of him. He was a little taller than me, so I had some compensating to do -- about four or five inches -- but that was taken care of instantly.
Then, I heard my mom coming down the hallway, and she cut the light on in the kitchen. Of course, knowing my luck, the kitchen opens on the entertainment center. (At one time it was the dining room.) She smiled and gave me a big thumbs-up.
I slowly peeled myself off of Alex, and took him by the hand, to my mom. "Mom, this is Alex Wright. Alex, this is my mom, Elise Fletcher."
She and he shook hands. Then, she gave him a kiss on the cheek. Seeing the nervous look on his face, which she read with an absolutely deadly accuracy, she said evenly, "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me. Even from your parents."
He broke down and sobbed then. My mom and I took turns comforting him. At last, the tears stopped coming, and he gave us each a hug and a kiss -- although mine was a little better. OK, a lot better. As usual, we got kind of involved in it -- it was just, I can still hear myself whining, that he kisses so well, like the Michael Valentine Smith or something. If you've never read Robert Heinlein's "Stranger in a Strange Land," I would stop reading this story right now and go buy yourself a copy of the best book in the existence of mankind. Beyond even "The City and the Pillar". Anyway, Mom broke us up with a cough. "I'm going back to bed. You know where to find condoms, sweetie, if you need them," she told me, eliciting a furious blush, "and Alex, honey, if you ever need somewhere to just hang out or spend the night or anything, our front door is always open to you."
My heart burst with love for the woman who'd raised me single-handedly, and who could take anything but alcohol, drugs, cigarettes and unprotected sex in stride. I fervently wished that Alex had someone like that, too.
He looked at me, still puffy and a little out of it from the crying but with a twinkle evoking the irrepressible Alex in his eye. That was the Alex I was getting to know better and better by the minute. I had to admit, when I looked him in the eye, that was when I knew I was in love with him.
Now, before you start condemning me as an irrepressible romantic, remember that teenagers fall in and out of love constantly. It is the effect of hormones mixing with genuine friendship, and, unlike adults, teens are actively changing physically and emotionally. This is not helped by the fact that every teen relationship revolves around the desperation to identify with someone, or some thing, that typifies the 13-19 existence. In short, there are a lot of disingenuous "I love you"s floating around among high school students. Fair enough. It's weird, though, and, to draw on J.D. Salinger's Holden Caulfield a moment, "phony".
So I said to myself: I love him. But I'm not ready to love him.
Luckily for my emotional health at that point in time, I didn't love Julie. I did like Julie, quite a bit, but the two are not mutually connected for high schoolers, just as they are not for adults.
OK, I've proselytized enough. Back to the plot!
Once I admitted the simple truth to myself -- in fact, the second time in less than twenty-four hours I'd had to make a self-admission -- which was, in short, "I love Alex Wright," it was much easier just to be around him. All the rest of the night, we just lay there, cuddling on the floor. At some point, we fell asleep, though, because when Mom came downstairs, she was appalled to find us on the floor, having shed our shoes but otherwise fully clothed, and asleep together. "I mean, geez, you guys were kissing so heavy I had to stop you from making love on the kitchen floor! Now, you sleep with your clothes on?"
Alex was still asleep. I rolled my eyes at her. She smiled sweetly.
I told her sarcastically, "I love you, Mom. Now let me sleep."
You see, she worked half-days at the office on Saturdays, which meant she left about 7:30 and came home about 1:00. When she came home, we were still asleep on the couch. Fully clothed. Still.
"Rise and shine, sleepy boys," she called as she walked into the kitchen. "The time is 1:03 p.m., and the grapevine says Jessica's throwing an invitation- only party at 5:30. That leaves only four hours and 27 minutes to prepare!"
By that time I was up. Alex was getting, well, closer to awake. I screamed in mock horror. "Oh, my God! I only have, like, four hours to get ready! Will I be able to do my hair in time?"
She squealed with delight. She and I loved to play "Clueless". "Oooh! Do I have enough time to buy a whole new ensemble? Like, the one I bought yesterday is sooo yesterday!"
I heard Alex moan. "And here I thought I might finally escape the valley girls, once and for all. I told myself, being gay has perks. No more dating cheerleaders. What kind of weird wake-up call is this?"
He sounded stressed, or maybe just weirded out -- not like it really mattered -- so I went over and gave him a kiss. A good one, but fast and light, so we would be able to break it off without someone else's intervention. "Mmmn, that's better," he said as I held up a bikini top and a fluffy feather skirt Mom had brought down.
"Don't I look marvelous in it?"
He just sighed. "So. Do you mind if I hang around while you get ready?"
"Don't be ridiculous! Of course you're coming. Jessica thinks you're really cute. Don't tell her I said so but" -- I was back in Valley Girl emulation -- "she's, like, sooo right!" I giggled.
He threw a pillow at me. "Josh, if I'm going, I'd better duck outta here and get dressed. Do I meet you there or here?"
"Here. Bring your Rover if you can; if not, I'll drive." I thought for a moment. "Be here at 5:00. We'll leave at 5:15. Jessica expects punctuality, if nothing else."
"How late will we be there?"
I ran my left hand through my hair. I figured, hey, I needed to redo it anyway, why worry? "Dunno. Depends on what your parents say, I imagine. Most of the time, the ten invitees all crash at her house."
"But I'm not invited, though, right?"
I laughed. "After last night, I know you're invited. If it makes you feel better, though, I can call her."
He wrote down his cell phone number for me, grabbed his wallet and keys, said goodbye to my mom, and walked out the door toward the garage. Once he had left, I started thinking, and put on my best 'please let me waste money' look. I mean, usually, I hate shopping, but I really did have something special in mind for tonight. It would wow everyone. Especially a certain someone.
I jumped up off the couch, which was where I'd been briefly, and leapt into preparation. After all, like Mom said, I have less than four hours to prepare now! "Mom?"
She looked over at me. "Yes, sweetie?" she said, still watching TV and reading the newspaper at the same time.
"Can I go buy a new pair of jeans today? I have a pair that doesn't fit me anymore, and I need to replace it, and besides, I have something special in mind." I gave
I saw her smile. Yes! Yes! Let me go! "Umm, OK, sweetie. I know just jeans are never enough, you'll probably want a sweater or something like that, too... let's set a limit. $75?"
"$100?"
She bargained. "$85?"
"$90 and we're set." I extended a hand.
"I'll take it. $90, and anything over, you pay." We shook hands. Sometimes, she could be a little over- the-top on the formality front. "I expect receipts on return. Don't spend more than two and a half hours or you'll be late to the party."
I did a quick time-check. 1:08. Shit. And I haven't showered or anything today. Oh, well. I'll just wear a hat, put on some deodorant, brush my teeth and get outta here. I raced up the steps, threw on some clothing that made me look cute and rakish but not exactly what I'd call carefully styled, a pair of black Adidas warm-ups and a light grey Kennedy Cold Warrior sweatshirt -- yes, our school newspaper really did have sweatshirts -- plus a red Structure cap. I topped the whole thing off with a pair of tennis shoes, and I was ready to go shopping.
I brushed my teeth and raced downstairs, grabbed the keys, and hurried out. There was a lot of traffic -- turns out there was a big accident on I-84 going eastbound and that always slows everything else down - - but all the same I made it downtown without wasting too much time. I parked, in the Pioneer Place garage since that's easy to get parking validated for downtown, and headed off.
First stop was to get some jeans. I had decided I wanted something faded, and not really baggy, since the whole point was to impress Alex, who really did have exquisite taste in clothes. They needed to fit, in short, but not be, like, really tight, either. I also didn't want to spend too much money on them, because I wanted a new sweater too, and besides I was going to split the outside seams of the legs about four inches. That also meant I needed them to be a little long. OK, so about three and a half inches long.
Because of those criteria, I stopped at Gap first. Their original-style jeans would be almost perfect for the situation. Unfortunately, they were also $36 a pair. Oh, wait, they're on sale. 25% off... $27. OK, I'll bite. I found a pair that would fit me -- a 29-34 -- and then tried to see if I could find a 29-38. Good luck. Most people that tall don't have teensy waists like I have. I described what I wanted to the lady who offered to help me out, and she went and looked in the back, and found a 30-38. I tried it on, and figured, I need a belt, but they still fit reasonably well everywhere I wanted to emphasize, and I'm only using a little over a third of my allotment.
While I was waiting in line at the checkout, I happened to see Autumn, a good friend of mine, but who isn't really part of "the group," if you will. She's a lot of fun, although if I met her at the mall I needed to brace myself for a shallowness onslaught. "Autumn!" I called out.
She came over, and I took a quick look. Yep. Shallow. Dressed to the hilt, in a pair of tight jeans and black wool sweater, her reddish-brown hair straight and perfectly brushed, face pale but radiant with makeup. Once she got to me, I gave her a big hug. "What's up?"
"Not a lot. Jessica called me to see if I wanted to come to her party, so I needed some new clothing for the occasion." She waved her Starbucks mug enthusiastically at something. "Oh, look at that! That would be so cute!"
I rolled my eyes mentally and looked. Wow. She was right. That was really cute. It was a bluish-purple sweater set matched with a grey skirt. "Have you seen anybody else at the mall? Everyone -- well, except Ira, of course -- buys new clothes before Jessica's parties."
Autumn nodded gravely, and then I saw her grin at me. She whispered ferociously with delight, "Wait. Look! It's the Ditz Queen and her latest boy toy."
We both looked over to see Tara, who we worked with on the newspaper, with someone; neither of us knew who he was. He was actually kind of attractive, but in a very, very aggressively straight way. Oh, well. Didn't matter. We both kind of turned around, so she wouldn't notice us and come over and say hello. She passed by, and kept on chatting happily.
"Hey, guys!" we heard call out at us, just a little bit later. When we turned around, we saw Michael, who was a friend of ours -- we worked with him on the newspaper. Nice guy. He had to make up a lot in personality, though, what he lacked physically: short (about 5'6"), uninteresting brown hair, large nose, chronic 5-o'clock shadow. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a gray cashmere V-neck sweater, plus a pair of faded, beat-up Nikes. With him was the perennial Starbucks latte, always, he said, "a decaf mocha with a shot of (something)". So I had to ask, of course, what it was.
"A decaf mocha with a shot of orange," he said, nonchalantly, and then cradled it against his chest as he rolled his eyes and pulled his phone off his belt. "Hello? Hi, mom... No, I'm not at the grocery store. I'm downtown... What do you need there? ... Milk. OK. Can do. ... See you when I get home." He chuckled lightly, and clipped the phone back on. "Sorry about that. Gotta love mothers. How's life, guys?"
I smiled at him. Autumn gave him a hug. "Not bad. Are we going to make this month's deadline? I don't want to be there until ten again," I whined.
He laughed, and set down the bags he'd already accumulated. I guess he'd done a lot of shopping; he had a Structure bag, a Banana Republic bag, and a Nike Town bag.
Damn rich kids have everything so easy. I bet he's spent at least $200, and he's not done shopping. Probably got to take his dad's car today too. $95,000 worth of Range Rover. 4.6 liters. 8 cylinders. British luxurious interior. Lucky.
Oh, and look who's talking.
Hey. Not fair. The BMW's worth a quarter of that thing's value.
It's still worth more than most people's cars.
Quit having conversations with yourself! It's distracting.
"I sure hope so," he said, letting the awful Midwestern twang hang for a second on 'sure'. "It's not like I wanted to be there 'till ten either. But I won't send a paper to press until it's done."
Autumn asked him, "Why couldn't you just let Mary take the blame for it if there's problems? I mean, she is the editor-in-chief. You're the news editor. You work too hard as it is."
Michael just grinned. "Oh, well. One issue down, eight to go. OK, answer the question. How's life, Autumn?"
She shrugged, and I noticed that she had much better form than I did. "Not bad." Then, I heard the cashier say, "Next, please," and I moved forward, leaving them to talk. "Hi," I said, trying to make conversation.
"Did you find everything all right today?"
"Actually, yes, I did, thanks," I told her, and pulled my wallet out of my pocket.
"That'll be ... $27." Oh, yeah, I forgot to gloat: We don't have sales tax here. I gave her my credit card and signed the receipt, and when she gave me my copy, I stuck it in the bag right away. I was done there. I walked back over to Michael and Autumn, and asked them, "Are you guys both coming to the party tonight?"
Michael shrugged. "I'm not much in the mood, but I can't turn down one of Jessica's invitations or she'll take me apart, bone by bone, and then burn the remnants as an offering to the gods."
Whatever you say. I blinked. Sometimes, he got a little over-the-top. Not like I don't, but I kind of go the other direction, in terms of terseness. He's famous for verbosity.
"OK, guys, I've gotta run," I said, checking my watch. "I still have to hit one more store, and it takes me forever to find sweaters that fit right. I'll see you guys tonight." Then, I took off, headed for Structure first, being the closer of the two options.
I didn't like any of the styles they had -- all too baggy, for one, and much too grungy-looking for another -- so I headed out pretty quickly and walked the four or five blocks to Banana Republic. It was a huge store, bigger than anything we'd ever had before, which had just been finished. Absolutely incredible.
Through the big glass front doors I walked, and started looking for sweaters. Immediately something caught my eye. It was a brown cashmere sweater, a V- neck, and it was on display with a nice white button- down shirt, shirtsleeves rolled up tastefully to the sweater's sleeves. Wow. I like that. It would look awesome with what I have in mind, too.
"Oooh! I wonder if they have that in my size!" I exclaimed. I got some weird looks. So much for the universality of "Clueless".
Anyway, I started rummaging under the tables, and I found one I liked a lot better, a nice dark green. It turns out it wasn't cashmere, it was just fine-grained wool, which was cool because that meant I could save a little money. I figured, hey, I'm saving money, I'll splurge, I'll get the shirt, too. I tried them on, liked them, and went over to the cash register and got checked out. "That'll be $94.50, Mr. ... Heilig," she said. "Do you want to put that on your Banana Republic card?"
"Actually, no, I'll just pay credit, thanks," I told her, curtly, and then pulled out my wallet. The ensemble was complete, and I was only $31.50 over my limit. Not bad for me.
She handed me my bags, and I was out the door. I had to stop by Silvetti's and pick up my new suits, which were being altered. It was a gift from my father, who had been promoted as of last year and had a lot of money to spend lately. He'd had them shipped down for me, along with a couple of shirts and a selection of ties, from the Seattle store. He and I were going on a cruise over winter break, and we needed to get this done before the Christmas shopping craze, since my size tended to leap off shelves.
As soon as I walked in the door, all of the salespeople said hi to me. My mom was friendly with the owner, and so they all knew me there. I tried them on, and I had to admit, they looked incredible on me. He had excellent taste in clothes. The only thing was, the shirts were too short, and I didn't like solid- color ties, so we picked out some new ones, and found the shirts in a longer sleeve size.
"Parfait," Don breathed. "You look great. They should be ready in... how's a week?"
I nodded. "Ideal, thanks." I handed him the clothes, and waved goodbye. That was that, and I headed out the door again, and then walked right back in. "Forgot to get my parking validated. You can do that for me, right?"
Don nodded at me. "Of course. Two hours or one?"
"Two, please."
He stamped it, and handed me the ticket. "Looks like you'd better get moving if you want to make the two hours..."
I shrugged. "I walk quickly. Thanks a lot!" I waved, and headed out the door.
Once back in the car -- and yes, I did make the two- hour limit, which meant I got free parking, even though I forgot to validate it at either Gap or Banana Republic -- I caught "Reeling in the Years" and also "My Old School" from a Steely Dan block on the radio, and then they put on Jethro Tull. Yes! I love Jethro Tull! I love "Locomotive Breath"!
I was ecstatic. I was headed off to a party... and Alex was coming... and I was going to look awesome that night. Low-top Doc Martens, my jeans, after I'd split them up the seams, that white shirt and the green sweater, plus my hair done up extra-special, Nick Carter-style. Just for him. Of course, all of this would probably mean coming out to my other friends, too, but that was OK. I wonder who's coming tonight? Hmm.
I wheeled into my driveway and started getting ready, for the second time in less than 24 hours, for a party. Except this time, I didn't need to worry about Alex.
It took me about a half an hour to get my hair done right, because, like I said, I was trying to look like a naturally blonde Nick Carter. (My hair was more like a golden brown, on a good day, but you get the idea.) The trick was to use this stuff I have, gel that never hardens, and really lightly, because you want the tips in the front to frame the cheekbones nicely... it's really hard to do, but I came awfully close, with my mom's help.
So. Forty minutes out, which meant I had an hour and twenty minutes until Alex came over. My nerves were wrecked from the frenzy, and I was totally panicking - - would I look good for him? -- so I threw on some music. What to play, what to play? I have a 3-disc changer, so I had some choices to make. In the end I settled on Steely Dan's "Can't Buy a Thrill", their first album, which always calms me; plus Jethro Tull's "20 Years of Jethro Tull"; and Elton John's "Honky Kat", a fun album if not his best.
With "Kings" rolling out of my stereo, I started splitting the seams in the jeans. It's a lot harder to do than it sounds. The trick is to make sure you don't cut yourself, which means always cutting away from your body. You also have to cut the cuff, which is the hardest part... I started with the X-acto knife about four inches above the cuff, and cut away from myself until I reached the cuff. Then I got Mom to help me split the cuff with a pair of scissors. Enough so we could cut it, anyway.
OK, the jeans were done. It was 4:30. I started hurriedly putting my clothes on, jeans -- how do the split seams look? So I had to stop, put my shoes on, check the seams, make sure they worked. Yes. They weren't too long, and they fanned nicely over the sides of the shoes, without dragging on the ground. After that, the white shirt, rolling the sleeves carefully up. Over that went the sweater, and then I finished rolling the shirtsleeves and buttoned them up over the ends of the sweater's sleeves. I looked at myself in the mirror. Nice.
"You've really outdone yourself this time, sweetie," said Mom, vocalizing what I was thinking. "He's going to love it."
I pretended to be shocked. "I'm not just doing it for him! I'm doing it for myself, for the party."
She nodded at me. I knew that look. "I know you are, sweetie."
Why does it matter whether you are or not?
Because he's not my boyfriend! He's just a friend of mine.
Yeah, a friend you're awfully attracted to. Who you've spent a hell of a lot of time kissing.
So?
What do you mean, 'so?' I think I've proven the point. You even said yourself you're in love with him.
And you aren't?
Of course I am, damn it! He's gorgeous. He's fun to be with. He's sweet. He's even smart. Well, most of the time, anyway. How much more could you ask for?
Well, it would be nice if I didn't already have a girlfriend.
I sure hope she isn't coming tonight.
Me too. I want to be with Alex.
"Sweetie? That's the doorbell, I bet that's Alex," Mom broke into my reverie. "Do you need me to get it?"
I hurriedly raced into my closet and grabbed my shoes, and started trying to find my cell phone. "Could you, Mom? That'd be awesome. I'm kind of frazzled today."
Without saying anything, she headed downstairs. That's the kind of nice mother I have. Always doing little things like that for me. But of course, I was in a bad spot, since I couldn't find my phone. Oh, wait! I know where it is! It's downstairs, in Mom's charger! Down the steps, in a fury, I raced, grabbed the phone and belt clip, threw it on, hurried back upstairs and brushed my teeth. "Josh? Are you ready yet?" Alex's voice called up the steps.
"Almost. I'm brushing my teeth before we go... I'll be down in just a sec," I yelled back. "I want to be extra-fresh, so I'm not, like, a social outcast." I reapplied my deodorant, and then put on some cologne. "Ready!"
"Dad wouldn't let me take his car, so I take it you want to take your mom's?"
I thought a moment. "Yeah. Do you know how to drive stick?"
Mom's voice interjected into our conversation sharply. "Alex, you may be a wonderful kid in every aspect, but you are not driving my BMW. Did you hear that, Josh? I'm putting my foot down."
Oh, well. So much for letting Alex be the aggressive driver today. "OK, Mom. I hear you. I'm driving. Do you mind if we stay over tonight? We'll probably be late. You can get a hold of me, you know my number, you know Jessica's."
I came down the stairs, and drew in my breath sharply. Mom called, "Yes, sweetie... have fun, boys!"
Around his waist he had tied a reddish plaid button- down shirt. He looked godlike. I looked at him, straight in the eye. What a beautiful sight it was, really, seeing him like that. "You look gorgeous, babe. Absolutely. I like the jeans especially... they show off those nice legs of yours."
"Well, thank you, Alex," I said, blushing lightly.
He stepped up and gave me a kiss... oh, God, one of these. I was backing up, toward the door, and opening it. "Alex!" I managed to gasp. "We need to go. We can't do this now!"
"You're right," he commented briefly. We were both out of breath. "But you even taste nice. OK, off to Jessica's."
But I didn't have any air to say anything back. I was stunned. Alex looked, well, better than I'd ever seen him, although that wasn't saying much. I had only known him for a day. This was his third set of clothes. But God. I was so right about his fashion sense. He was wearing a pair of loose-fitting cargo khakis in a kind of off-white color, and a light blue polo shirt, with all three buttons undone to show off a beautiful upper chest. Plus a red Cubs cap, which unfortunately hid his hair. It looked good on him.
"Alex? Do you have to wear the hat? Your hair looks much better without it."
He grinned at me. OK, knees, save me this once. "OK, I'll leave the hat here. You're driving... let's get going."
COMMENTS FROM THE AUTHOR
OK, so those of you that have been following the story know that the disclaimer is deceptive. In fact, I've come to a decision. Any sex that happens in this story is going to be done obliquely. I'm not going to get into the trap of letting Josh and Alex's sex life (or lack of it) become the focus of the story. If that doesn't interest you, I'm sorry, you can find another story... this one's about love.
Sorry for the delay on this chapter. I've been trying to get one up per week, but I forgot to do it last weekend and when the alarm on my Palm went off, the one for THIS weekend, it occurred to me that I had never done last weekend's. "Oops! Should I leave a note?"
Keep the comments rolling, if you feel like it. I'm joshbabe22@hotmail.com. Flames go straight to /dev/null, UNIX's hell.