The Other Foot

Epilogue

I walked into the kitchen to the expected sight of Steve cooking something fabulous for dinner.

It was one of his hobbies, cooking, I mean and he’s good at it. He enjoys it and I enjoy seeing the pleasure he gets from a fabulous soufflé or a steak seasoned and grilled to perfection. It means a few extra hours at the gym, but that’s alright. His cooking is worth it—Hell, he’s worth it.

He smiled when he saw me and I kissed him. I love him. I love him deeply and we’re happy together. In fact, we’ve been happy for the last ten years. It will be our anniversary soon and we’ve decided that Paris would be the place to see in the next decade. We leave in three weeks.

“How was the presentation this afternoon?” He only spends a day or so a week at the agency now and I’ve been given the title of president. Vance retired a couple of years ago and it’s pretty much my football now. The agency has grown, adding an office in San Francisco five years ago. It’s doing well and so are we.

“It was fine, we got the account.”

He smiles again and kisses me, happy for me. “I know how hard you worked on that one. I’m proud of you.” He pulled back slightly to look at me. “What?”

I just shook my head. “Nothing. I just love you. I always thought it was bullshit when I’d hear someone say that their wife or kid or someone made them happy, but now I can understand it. You make me happy.”

He smiled at me, pleased with my words. Squeezing my arm, he turned back to the stove. “It will be ready in about half an hour if you want to get cleaned up.”

Later we were in the living room, he was reading and I was doing some clean up work on the laptop.

“I got a call today.”

“Oh?”

“It was Justin. He’s opening a show at MOMA, some group thing with rising artists and asked if we would like to attend the opening as his guests. He’s here for a week or so from London for the set up and wondered if we would like to have dinner or something.”

Steve was looking over at me, calm as ever. “What did you tell him?”

“That I’d ask you how you felt about it, but that I’d go. Would you rather skip it?”

“No, I’ll go with you if you want. Unless you’d prefer seeing him alone?”

“I don’t think it matters one way or the other. I’d like your company. If you’d feel uncomfortable I’d understand.”

“I’m sure it will be fine. Let me know when.”

That night, in our bed, Steve rolled onto his side, facing me. “Are you sure you’re alright seeing Justin again? “

“It’s water under the bridge. All that happened ten years ago. He’s moved on with his life and so have I—so have we. I wouldn’t worry about it.” We kissed, settling in for the night. Our sex life was still pretty good, but it wasn’t a nightly thing any more and that was alright. Steve was fifty-three now, I was forty-one.

Occasionally I would wonder at the symmetry of the difference in our ages. Twelve years, the same difference between Justin and me. Try as I might, I couldn’t find any real significance in that, it just struck me now and then.

What Steve and I had together was solid. We loved one another and I could think of no reason why we would ever split up—other than the obvious one. That wouldn’t, with any luck happen for a long time and I found that I treasured the time we shared.

That’s an odd choice of words for me, I know, but that’s how I feel about him. I have more money than I need, a home that’s been featured in magazines, a successful career that affords me the respect of my peers, but what matters is the man falling asleep beside me.

The next day at the agency I sat at my desk after my first meeting of the day had ended, jus sitting and daydreaming. Cynthia was still with me, but was now in charge of the day-to-day operations of the New York office. She had married about eight years ago, but it hadn’t worked out and I kept at her to tell me to fuck off and find herself a stud. I hope that she does one of these days. We had gotten in to the habit if having a cup of coffee together around midmorning. It was a nice break for both of us and gave us a chance to touch base on whatever was going on.

She walked in without bothering to knock.

“You have a visitor this morning. Look who I found being harassed by your new secretary.”

Justin.

Of course.

I stood up, watching as he walked across the room, watching him looking at me, making the same mental comparisons to ten years ago that I was making. He looked good, which didn’t surprise me. He was still blond, of course, still slender, though not quite as much so. He still looked younger than his age, but I could see the beginnings of laugh lines near his eyes and he looked—I don’t know—I guess the thought that comes to mind is ‘hard used’.

I moved around to the front of the desk to greet him and we went through the ridiculous ritual of shaking hands. He told me that I looked well; that the place was impressive and he knew it was successful. He said that he had been following me and the agency in the business section of the various newspapers and web sites devoted to such things.

He was happy for me. He knew that Steve and I were still together. I think I might have nodded and said that we had been lucky, that we had a good life together.

I told him that I had heard that he was carving a name for himself, that he was shown in the better galleries, that his paintings were in demand and that he was becoming well known. I said that I wasn’t surprised, that I knew he would do well.

Cynthia made an excuse to leave, to let us have some privacy.

Finally I asked into the awkward silence that had come over us after she left.

“Are you with someone, Justin? Are you happy?”

He seemed interested in the pattern the milk had made in his coffee cup.

“I was with Jeff for seven years. He got sick, died about a year and a half ago. It’s getting better now, though. I work a lot and people seem to like my stuff, so that’s good.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s OK. I’m OK with it now. It was good until the last few months.”

“How are your Mom and Molly? I tried to find out a few times, but I guess she pretty much washed her hands of me.”

“Yeah, she kept telling me that you were a shit to do what you did. She was pretty angry with you for a while there.”

“Is she alright?”

“She’s fine. She got married about three years ago, so did Molly. They were joking that it would be a double wedding, but they didn’t go through with it. They’re good.” He finished his coffee and looked like he was going to leave. “I know you’re busy. I just wondered if you wanted to come to the opening, maybe get some dinner or something.”

“Yes, to both. Steve would like to join us if that’s alright with you.”

“Of course. I think what pissed me off was that he’s such a nice guy. I knew that you two were perfect together and I wanted you to be happy so I couldn’t hate him.” He put his cup on the edge of my desk “Tomorrow night?”

“Fine. You pick the place.” I wanted to say more. “I didn’t plan what happened with us. I would have done anything to avoid hurting you, you know that.”

“Yeah, I do. After I calmed down and could think about what had happened without crying, I started to understand that you just fell in love with each other and you did what you had to.”

“I did love you. I always will care about you. You know that if you ever need anything—you know.”

“I know, and thanks.” He brightened. “I’ve met someone new. I think it might work out. So far it’s almost perfect.” He gave me a little of that smile.

 “Good. I hope it does.” He looked like the old Sunshine sitting there. “He’s not a fiddle player, is he?”

“Fuck no. He’s an honest to God doctor. No, not a chiropractor, a real one. I met him at an opening in Denver about a year ago. I’m going out to see him after I leave New York.”

The intercom buzzed. “Mr. Kinney? Mr. Whiting is here.”

“Thank you, I’ll be right with him.” Justin stood up to go. “Come to the house for dinner tomorrow, around seven—unless you’d rather go out.”

He smiled again, this time the full monty. “No, I’d rather go to your place.”

I started to put my hand out to shake but he took it, reached up and kissed me on the cheek.

“It’s OK, Brian. Remember what you said that first night? Always remember it so that you’d always be with me? I do remember and you are.” He walked over to the door, put his hand on the knob, turned back to me and said it. “Later.”

He was alright.

And so was I.

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