The Other Foot

Chapter Seven

Sunday afternoon

“Are you in love with him?”

I remember that we looked right at one another and Brian sort of hesitated before he answered, like he either wasn’t sure or didn’t want to tell me.

“I don’t know. I might be. I don’t know.”

“Who is it?”

“Justin, what difference does it make?”

What a fucking kind of answer was that? “It makes a difference to me. Who is it?”

“…Steve Brenner.”

“The head of Brenner, Inc. That Steve Brenner?” He didn’t even answer, just looked at me.

We were at the Goddamned airport. Shit.

“You’ll miss your flight. I’ll call you tonight, we’ll talk about this.”

“No. I’ll call you. Will you be at the hotel?” Brian nodded. Asshole, hope it didn’t mean he’d have to change his plans.

We didn’t kiss goodbye. He didn’t get out of the cab. I didn’t look back when I went into the terminal.

Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck.

That’s all I could think until I got on the plane. Then I began to picture Brian making love—that’s right, making love—to some faceless guy.

The pisser was that I could imagine it really easily, like a movie playing in my head. I could picture how they would look and move, I could even hear the sounds they made.

Fuck.

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Sunday night

“You lied to me, you let me go there this weekend and fucked me and pretended that everything was fine and that you love me and you knew that when I left that he…”

I was so angry, so outraged that I couldn’t even shout or yell. I was breathing hard, but my voice was calm, well, pretty calm. “You motherfucker.”

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t apologize, he didn’t ask me to understand or tell me that he’d end it or even that he loved me.

“How long?”

“Justin….”

“No, I want to know just how much of an idiot I’ve been. Did this start when you flew there to meet him a few months ago? Was it after you moved there, was it last week, last year, in fucking college?”

“We met a couple of months ago, when the merger was in the works. We’ve become friends. We just like one another and work well together. When I got here we enjoyed each other’s company and started having dinner together so that we wouldn’t both have to eat alone. Then we started doing things together after work—movies, galleries…it only moved to other things a couple of weeks ago. Before that we were just friends.”

“And you have the balls—shit, the lack of balls to tell me when we’re pulling into the Goddamned airport?”

“When should I have told you? In bed? Before you got on the plane?”

“How the fuck can you even begin to throw this on me? You’re the one who’s screwing around this time. You’re the one who wants—wanted—me to move to fucking New York City and change schools and be your fucking housewife…am I still moving?”

“Justin, fucking stop. I didn’t plan this and neither did he. It happened. These things happen—you sure as fuck know that.”

Fucker.

“Do you love him? You didn’t answer me.”

“I told you the truth. I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Does he love you?”

“I don’t know that either. Maybe.”

“And what the fuck do you expect me to do? Sit back while you two figure it out?”

“That’s what I did for you.”

“That was a crappy thing to say. I’m tired and I’m going to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Call my cel, I don’t know where I’ll be.”

“Motherfucker.”

“…Justin…” He trailed off. “…I do still love you.” God, he sounded so fucking sad. Just like me. Not anger just—sadness and loss.

“…I know. I love you, too, Brian.”

“Later.”

“Yeah.” The connection was broken.

Turning away from the big windows Justin went over to the CD player, hitting the play button and knowing what he’d hear.

“Oh, I know that the music’s fine,

Like sparkling wine,

Go and have your fun.

Laugh and sing, but while we’re apart,

Don’t give your heart to anyone.

Cause don’t forget who’s taking you home

And in whose arms you’re gonna be

… Darling, save the last dance for me…”

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I knew, OK—I suspected that something like this might happen at some point.

I mean, shit, sure Brian and I love each other. That’s not the question here.

The problem is everything else.

Brian and I are just too Goddamned different to make it work for long.

I keep picturing us like a couple of people walking, running, dancing in a crowded room. Sometimes we manage to come together and we touch and it’s terrific and sometimes we’re forced apart and maybe out the door—maybe out different doors. Maybe we’ll find our way back in and maybe we won’t. Maybe we’ll meet up in the parking lot and maybe we’ll end up going home with other people.

I’m just so—sad right now. I don’t know how to compete with this, with this guy. I don’t know if I can or if I even want to.

I looked him up on the net and he’s fucking amazing. He’s the guy Brian should be with.

He’s handsome and rich and smart and sophisticated and he’s in Brian’s field and they couldn’t have more in common if you’d fucking cloned them. He’s won every award that’s worth having for advertising. Everything even says that he’s a nice guy. He’s well liked; he gives money to the Goddamned ASPCA, for shit’s sake.

He’s the man you would expect Brian to be with and Brian is just what you’d think Steve (Steve? When did I get to be on a first name basis with him?) would be coming home to—or going to Paris for the weekend with or something.

I could see them sitting in front of a fireplace sipping perfect wine and relaxing, chatting about their day and listening to some classical music together.

Just no violin music.

Shit, this is who Brian should be with, not a Goddamned college student who’s friend’s idea of a party is getting a keg.

He said that he didn’t plan this, that he wasn’t looking for anyone, and I believe him, I really do. I even believe that he loves me and I sure as shit know how much I love him.

I can even understand how he was lonely and stressed and this guy was there and they hit it off and became friends and ended up as lovers. I can. I can understand that.

What I can’t wrap my brain around is how he could let me visit him, spend a fabulous weekend together and then just drop that fucking bomb in the car.

If he had told me when I arrived or on the phone—no, not on the phone—but if he had just come out and said to me that he thought that he might be falling in love with someone else…shit. I don’t know.

What’s better? Blindsiding someone or hitting them when they can see you coming.

Oh, God.

I don’t know what to do.

I can’t just pick up and go there to keep an eye on him or to keep him company or something. I have to finish school and he’ll be pissed if I don’t. I can’t let him think that I’m following him or whatever.

If he wants this other guy then—I guess that he has to decide what he’s going to do.

I walked out once and I thought that we had both learned how much that hurts and that we wouldn’t put each other through that again. I thought that we had learned that. I know I did.

I feel like crying again.

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Monday mid-morning

Steve walked into Brian’s office to find him sitting behind his desk, jacket off, feet up and looking out the window, lost in thought and unaware that he was even there until he spoke. Closing the door behind him, he sat down.

“How did the visit go?”

“He knows about us. He suspected and I told him. I spoke with him on the phone last night and he’s—shit.” He shook his head without continuing.

“Brian, I’m sorry. I’ve told you before, if you want, we can go back to just being friends.”

He spread his hands in a gesture of confusion. “I don’t know what to do here. I love him, I know he loves me but I think that you and I have something that could become important and I just don’t know what the fuck to do.” He swallowed. “I’m hurting him and that kills me.”

“We can step back, forget dinners together, you could find other friends. I won’t force anything, you know that. Is he demanding a decision, is there an ultimatum or something?”

“No, nothing like that. I suspect he feels the same way I do about this—just sad at the hurt that’s being caused. The hurt I’m causing him. We went through this about a year ago. He met someone his age, a musician. He moved out, went with the other guy but after a few months that ended and a month or so later we were back together.” He looked at Steve for the first time since he’d come in. “I know what it feels like and I’m doing the same thing to him.” He just shook his head at himself. “Shit, he’s transferring schools, I’ve sold the loft we lived in, he’s giving up his friends and his family to be with me and now it’s all fucked.”

Steve spoke into the silence. “Brian, there’s another thing to consider here that you’re ignoring. What about you? What—or who would make you happy?”

“You make me happy, Justin makes me happy.”

“I’m not into three ways.” Brian managed a ghost of a smile.

“Sometimes I think he’s too young for me—I’m too old for him.” His eyes flicked to Steve.  “We’re the same, I feel comfortable with you, we understand one another, we speak the same language.”

“He was a virgin when you met him, wasn’t he?”

“How did you know that?”

“The way you’re so protective of him. You’re his teacher, his mentor. I suspect you’re the first one who let him be gay without any criticism. And you’re his first love.”

“In a lot of ways, he’s mine, too.”

“Look, I think what might help would be for you to be by yourself for a few days and try to sort this out without either of us interfering. I have a cabin about three hours from here in the Berkshires. Take my car, go up there and just think.”

“…You know I can’t do that. We have four major pitches this week and Vance is expecting me to…”

“Fuck Vance. And I am capable of pitching a client, thank you. Get you things together, take some work with you if you want, and go this afternoon. There are connections for a computer in the living room and the phone works just fine. In fact, go now and you can beat rush hour.”

“Steve—I can’t do this, I’m supposed to be working…”

“And you’re useless to the company the way you are now. Take the time and get yourself straightened out about this.” He stood. “Come on.”

Knowing that he was beaten and hoping that it might work, Brian agreed.

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Tuesday Afternoon

“Hello, Cynthia? Is Brian available?”

“I’m sorry, Justin, he’s away for the rest of the week.”

“Away?…But he didn’t say…Do you know where he went? Is there anyway I could get in touch with him?”

Steve was passing by when he heard Cynthia say Justin’s name. He whispered a question, she answered and he told her that he’d take it in Brian’s office.

“Justin?”

“Yes? Who is this?”

He tried to be kind to the youngster on the other end of the line. “This is Steve Brenner. Justin, Brian is away this week to try to sort this out. I’ve agreed not to try to get a hold of him or interfere or try to influence him in any way. I can give you the number where he is if you want, but I think he’ll call you when he’s ready.”

 “Where is he?”

“I loaned him a cabin I own in Massachusetts. He went alone to try to figure out what he wants out of this.”

“Why would you agree to leave him alone in your cabin?”

“Because he has to make up his own mind or his decision will be worthless.”

There was silence as Justin absorbed this.

“Do you love him?”

“We haven’t known each other very long, but I think that I might, yes.”

“Do you think that he loves you?”

“I don’t know. I hope that he does, but I’m not sure if he knows yet himself…Justin? Are you still there? I do know that he loves you very much and is concerned about you.”

“…Yeah, I know. Thanks.”

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Thursday afternoon

Brian lay on the end on the dock in a hammock hanging from a stand. There was a family of mallard ducks he had been watching paddling about in the shallows for the last half hour. He had tried to do some work while he was here and had actually gotten some done, but he realized that he was using the projects to escape from what he needed to think about and so had put them aside.

Two lovers and he had to make a decision then hope that they would accept it and him.

He wondered when his life had become a cliché and how the fuck a cliché could be so fucking complicated.

Whatever he decided, someone would be hurt. He loved Justin. He had loved Justin since that first night under the streetlamp.

Justin loved him.

They’d had problems, had resolved them and were happy and becoming closer to one another. They had a new home, he had a promotion, a raise and respect in his work. Justin was doing well in school and would undoubtedly land a good job in due course.

It all seemed good.

Hell, it all was good.

Steve was everything he wanted and hadn’t realized until it had hit him over the head. He was smart and kind and strong and sophisticated and tough and a fabulous lover.

Steve was—Steve was, shit, he was Justin in twenty years.

Fuck. No wonder he was attracted to the man.

Now all he had to decide was which one he wanted and he knew he had to decide quickly or he could well lose them both.

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