CALM
Cael has had a lot come up in her life so she asked me to post. Sorry. Gotta run, late for work.
************************
“I see dead people,” I say to Justin as he rolls off my arm and reaches for the last chubby toke from a smoke. He laughs and lies back again, hooking one leg over mine and settling that silky blond hair against my shoulder. The sex was hot, the alcohol was soothing, the weed was mellow. I feel much more human now. After a day of drama and brain twisting on this fucking campaign, followed by an outtake from Ghostbusters, I need this touch of home.
“Bruce Willis?” He asks and I laugh.
“No, that’s just his career that died.”
“You mean Sherm?”
“For one.”
“We have more than one ghost in that jail?”
“Not anymore. I don’t think we have Sherm anymore. I think he’s gone.”
“Maybe he just wasn’t in the mood to talk to you.”
One thing I love about Justin, he can make this creepy little talent of mine seem normal and natural. He doesn’t doubt me or think I’m pulling his chain. He just accepts it as another quirk in the Kinney mosaic and moves on. I tell him what I saw. I’ve already told him about the Parker visit. When I’m done, he hikes himself up on one elbow to stare down at me. “That is so weird. But kind of beautiful.”
I shrug. “Let’s stick with weird.”
“So it was Parker’s ex?”
“You know what I know. He was a fireman and he mentioned Parker, so yeah, I guess.”
“So what, has he been hanging around Parker and Brog all this time?”
I have to laugh at that. “Damn, I should have questioned him about who was on top.”
He laughs and drops back in a cuddle. “If I die, I plan to hang around and haunt your ass, too.”
“It’s not enough that I had to suffer through you when you were alive?”
“Given the fact you’re so much older than I am, you’ll go first anyway.”
“I promise to stay put once you plant me. Life is hard enough the first time around. I’m moving on.”
“So what is the fireman? A reaper? Gathers dead souls?”
“Justin, quit trying to apply logic to an illogical and impossible scenario. Here’s what I think. I think I had a really hard day. I think I was tired and stressed. I think I had that unexpected encounter with Parker. I think I have a continuing concern for poor old Sherm being stranded here. And so maybe my mind just concocted this whole scene. That’s what I think.”
“Bullshit. I think you said it right the first time. You see dead people.”
“I don’t want to see dead people. I may wake up one day and have Jack sitting in a chair. That would finish it for me.”
“It’s the Irish in you. The Irish are mystical.”
“What a bunch of crap that is. You think Mickey Rooney was fucking mystical? Jack Kennedy?”
“Maybe. What do we know?”
“Anyway, if this is my mind’s way of removing Sherm from the scene, so be it. I’m thrilled for him. I hate to think of his being trapped there.”
He traces a line down my torso, starting between my pecs and ending at my belly button. I feel my cock twitch. Round two? He looks at me and smiles. “In a minute. So, what do you think about Brog moving in with Parker?”
“I think it’s too soon and so typical of Brog. He loves being in love. I guess we should be relieved he fell in love with a man instead of a cocker spaniel. Wait, doesn’t Parker have a dog?”
He giggles. “You’re so bad.”
“I want him to be happy. If he wants to tell himself he’s queer, fine. But he has been through so many changes that I think he should take it slowly. Brog, slow? Not gonna happen. This is how he is. We are exact opposites in so many ways.”
“I just hope it works out for both of them.”
“Because you’re such a romantic little girl.”
He places my hand on his dick. “What did you just say?”
I give it a squeeze and he yelps and reaches into the drawer beside the bed. I’m thinking lube. He shows me a familiar turquoise box. I open it. I stare at cufflinks. Nice ones. “Thanks, but why did you spend the money on these? It’s not my birthday and I don’t need any cufflinks. I have a collection, as you know.”
“They aren’t yours, they’re mine.”
“Most people would start with a shirt with French cuffs. You don’t even own one.”
He tells me the rest. I sit up and reach for a cigarette. He watches me inhale, exhale, and then I finally trust myself to speak. “No one tells my partner he’d like to dress him. First of all, it implies an ownership right that doesn’t exist. Second of all, it implies, wrongly, that neither you nor I have the taste or ability to dress you on our own, and lastly, it makes you look like a little boy about to be outfitted for your first suit which is demeaning and just plain wrong. You have some nice clothes, hanging in that closet. If you want another suit, you know where to go to get it and you have the innate taste and breeding to choose your own look. I’m not telling you what to do, but this couple is working a private agenda and I don’t like it one bit. If you let him dress you like some little doll, then you better hang those clothes in someone else’s closet because I don’t want them in our home. You know the more I think about this, the madder I get. Fuck him! What a pretentious, self entitled asshole!”
He laughs and places a calming hand on my arm. “Chill, Brian. I’m not letting him dress me.”
“You should be offended that he’d even make that offer.”
“I’m not excited about it, but I guess I’m more curious than offended.”
“I didn’t notice any sign of sartorial excellence when I met him. Scroungy hair, that marquis de Sade goatee, the hornrims, and his suit was Dolce and Gabbana from two collections ago.”
He stares hard at me. “You can look at him and pinpoint the collection his suit came from?”
I shrug. “I keep up fashion-wise, Justin, unlike you. If you’re going to wear high fashion, you have to keep a rotation going. If you want to hang onto stuff, go for the classics, but even those have to be updated.”
“Little did he know he crossed the threshold of Karl Lagerfeld when he made this offer.”
He makes me laugh. But I’m still mad. Not at him. At this asshole who thinks he can dress my partner. “So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t want to alienate him, Brian. He is connected and he’s been kind to me. But I understand boundaries and he and his wife both seem to believe they live in a world without borders. I’ll think about what to do.”
I have to accept that. Justin is his own person. It’s not fair for me to hand down edicts. He knows where I stand on it, at least. The rest is up to him. I toss the cufflink box onto the table and ground out my cigarette as I reach for him. To hell with ghosts and heroes and villains and oily little art dealers and Brog’s great romance and the rest of the fucking world. I just want to do what we do best and make the whole thing go away. At least for the length of time it takes to pound him into the mattress.
We kiss, our mouths open, our tongues touching, and then the phone rings. I groan, consider ignoring it, but instead I pick it up because I’m bad about that. It’s my cousin.
“Hi, Brian. Busy?”
“Yes, I’m in the middle of fucking my partner.”
Justin chuckles at that. “I wouldn’t say the middle, exactly.”
I glare at him as Cat says, “Oh. I won’t keep you, but have you seen Phillip?”
“No,” I hang up the phone. No one asked me to watch Phillip today. I thought living in New York would mean fewer interferences from friends. Instead it seems the whole network of interference moved with us. I kiss him again and he pulls me tight against his body. The interference recedes as I allow myself to get lost in this embrace.
************************
“I see dead people,” I say to Justin as he rolls off my arm and reaches for the last chubby toke from a smoke. He laughs and lies back again, hooking one leg over mine and settling that silky blond hair against my shoulder. The sex was hot, the alcohol was soothing, the weed was mellow. I feel much more human now. After a day of drama and brain twisting on this fucking campaign, followed by an outtake from Ghostbusters, I need this touch of home.
“Bruce Willis?” He asks and I laugh.
“No, that’s just his career that died.”
“You mean Sherm?”
“For one.”
“We have more than one ghost in that jail?”
“Not anymore. I don’t think we have Sherm anymore. I think he’s gone.”
“Maybe he just wasn’t in the mood to talk to you.”
One thing I love about Justin, he can make this creepy little talent of mine seem normal and natural. He doesn’t doubt me or think I’m pulling his chain. He just accepts it as another quirk in the Kinney mosaic and moves on. I tell him what I saw. I’ve already told him about the Parker visit. When I’m done, he hikes himself up on one elbow to stare down at me. “That is so weird. But kind of beautiful.”
I shrug. “Let’s stick with weird.”
“So it was Parker’s ex?”
“You know what I know. He was a fireman and he mentioned Parker, so yeah, I guess.”
“So what, has he been hanging around Parker and Brog all this time?”
I have to laugh at that. “Damn, I should have questioned him about who was on top.”
He laughs and drops back in a cuddle. “If I die, I plan to hang around and haunt your ass, too.”
“It’s not enough that I had to suffer through you when you were alive?”
“Given the fact you’re so much older than I am, you’ll go first anyway.”
“I promise to stay put once you plant me. Life is hard enough the first time around. I’m moving on.”
“So what is the fireman? A reaper? Gathers dead souls?”
“Justin, quit trying to apply logic to an illogical and impossible scenario. Here’s what I think. I think I had a really hard day. I think I was tired and stressed. I think I had that unexpected encounter with Parker. I think I have a continuing concern for poor old Sherm being stranded here. And so maybe my mind just concocted this whole scene. That’s what I think.”
“Bullshit. I think you said it right the first time. You see dead people.”
“I don’t want to see dead people. I may wake up one day and have Jack sitting in a chair. That would finish it for me.”
“It’s the Irish in you. The Irish are mystical.”
“What a bunch of crap that is. You think Mickey Rooney was fucking mystical? Jack Kennedy?”
“Maybe. What do we know?”
“Anyway, if this is my mind’s way of removing Sherm from the scene, so be it. I’m thrilled for him. I hate to think of his being trapped there.”
He traces a line down my torso, starting between my pecs and ending at my belly button. I feel my cock twitch. Round two? He looks at me and smiles. “In a minute. So, what do you think about Brog moving in with Parker?”
“I think it’s too soon and so typical of Brog. He loves being in love. I guess we should be relieved he fell in love with a man instead of a cocker spaniel. Wait, doesn’t Parker have a dog?”
He giggles. “You’re so bad.”
“I want him to be happy. If he wants to tell himself he’s queer, fine. But he has been through so many changes that I think he should take it slowly. Brog, slow? Not gonna happen. This is how he is. We are exact opposites in so many ways.”
“I just hope it works out for both of them.”
“Because you’re such a romantic little girl.”
He places my hand on his dick. “What did you just say?”
I give it a squeeze and he yelps and reaches into the drawer beside the bed. I’m thinking lube. He shows me a familiar turquoise box. I open it. I stare at cufflinks. Nice ones. “Thanks, but why did you spend the money on these? It’s not my birthday and I don’t need any cufflinks. I have a collection, as you know.”
“They aren’t yours, they’re mine.”
“Most people would start with a shirt with French cuffs. You don’t even own one.”
He tells me the rest. I sit up and reach for a cigarette. He watches me inhale, exhale, and then I finally trust myself to speak. “No one tells my partner he’d like to dress him. First of all, it implies an ownership right that doesn’t exist. Second of all, it implies, wrongly, that neither you nor I have the taste or ability to dress you on our own, and lastly, it makes you look like a little boy about to be outfitted for your first suit which is demeaning and just plain wrong. You have some nice clothes, hanging in that closet. If you want another suit, you know where to go to get it and you have the innate taste and breeding to choose your own look. I’m not telling you what to do, but this couple is working a private agenda and I don’t like it one bit. If you let him dress you like some little doll, then you better hang those clothes in someone else’s closet because I don’t want them in our home. You know the more I think about this, the madder I get. Fuck him! What a pretentious, self entitled asshole!”
He laughs and places a calming hand on my arm. “Chill, Brian. I’m not letting him dress me.”
“You should be offended that he’d even make that offer.”
“I’m not excited about it, but I guess I’m more curious than offended.”
“I didn’t notice any sign of sartorial excellence when I met him. Scroungy hair, that marquis de Sade goatee, the hornrims, and his suit was Dolce and Gabbana from two collections ago.”
He stares hard at me. “You can look at him and pinpoint the collection his suit came from?”
I shrug. “I keep up fashion-wise, Justin, unlike you. If you’re going to wear high fashion, you have to keep a rotation going. If you want to hang onto stuff, go for the classics, but even those have to be updated.”
“Little did he know he crossed the threshold of Karl Lagerfeld when he made this offer.”
He makes me laugh. But I’m still mad. Not at him. At this asshole who thinks he can dress my partner. “So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t want to alienate him, Brian. He is connected and he’s been kind to me. But I understand boundaries and he and his wife both seem to believe they live in a world without borders. I’ll think about what to do.”
I have to accept that. Justin is his own person. It’s not fair for me to hand down edicts. He knows where I stand on it, at least. The rest is up to him. I toss the cufflink box onto the table and ground out my cigarette as I reach for him. To hell with ghosts and heroes and villains and oily little art dealers and Brog’s great romance and the rest of the fucking world. I just want to do what we do best and make the whole thing go away. At least for the length of time it takes to pound him into the mattress.
We kiss, our mouths open, our tongues touching, and then the phone rings. I groan, consider ignoring it, but instead I pick it up because I’m bad about that. It’s my cousin.
“Hi, Brian. Busy?”
“Yes, I’m in the middle of fucking my partner.”
Justin chuckles at that. “I wouldn’t say the middle, exactly.”
I glare at him as Cat says, “Oh. I won’t keep you, but have you seen Phillip?”
“No,” I hang up the phone. No one asked me to watch Phillip today. I thought living in New York would mean fewer interferences from friends. Instead it seems the whole network of interference moved with us. I kiss him again and he pulls me tight against his body. The interference recedes as I allow myself to get lost in this embrace.