Ten Years After/Part 2
I shake my head and sit back in my chair. I'm not surprised to see him.
Tommy Stone opened at the beginning of the week. But he's been in here
after the show every night since.
Just like me.
But don't make the mistake of thinking that gives us anything in common. I
don't.
"Why do you keep coming back?" I ask.
"Why do you?"
"I asked you first."
"Fair enough. I'm a reporter. I'm..." There is a long pause like he's
choosing his next words carefully. That automatically puts me on alert.
"...chasing a story."
"No story here," I say, relaxing once again. "Just me."
"Ah, but you see, I think you *are* the story."
My chair hits the floor at the same time as the heels of my boots. "You're
wrong."
"You want to tell this story," he goes on.
"Really? What makes you think so?" I comment dryly, smudging a wet spot on
the table in front of me.
He leans forward and whispers, "I think you've been waiting ten years to
tell it."
I grin. "Why on earth would I wait ten years to say something that nobody
wants to hear?"
"Because you're finally ready."
I tap my cigarette ash into the ashtray, three clipped movements that
nearly break the cigarette. "You're barking up the wrong tree, man."
"I'm right and you know it. I know you--"
Like that, I turn on him, fangs bared. "Just cause we screwed each other's
brains out ten years ago does not give you permission to crawl inside my
head."
He looks strangely triumphant. I can't for the life of me guess why. Then
I get it. I gave myself away. I remember him. The kid with blue hair on
the roof. But he wouldn't be so happy if he knew what I was thinking, what
I really took away from that night.
I took his innocence and gave back nothing. For me, it was a one-night
stand, but for him, it obviously lasted ten years. That's a shame. He was
a nice kid, but I'm not in the mood to hear how I supposedly changed his
entire life.
"You want to talk about it?"
"What?" I drawl. Then I proceed to blow smoke at him across the length of
the table.
"Why you're here. Why you do this to yourself--"
I lean on my elbows and I know I look vaguely threatening. He confirms it
by inching back in his chair. "What exactly is it I'm doing?"
"You come in here every night. You obviously expect him to show up. But
that's just crazy. He doesn't go anywhere without his entourage, and he'd
be swarmed by the fans before he got through the door."
"Your point?"
"Doesn't it hurt to keep hoping? You must have regrets--"
"I don't live in the past, if that's what you mean." I think I pulled it
off. He actually looks puzzled. I think he expects me to break down and
pull out my hair or something. Oh, wait, I already did that. At the DoG
concert.
He frowns. "Are you happy then?"
"I...never think in terms of happy...or comfortable. It's not the way I
am." My voice sounds cool and even. Even *I'm* convinced that none of this
bothers me.
He starts chewing on his bottom lip, and the gesture reminds me acutely of
Brian. That gives me a pang someplace I thought I didn't have anymore. My
heart. "Hey, don't make out like this was some great tragedy or something,
man. We were boys together. Playing together." We just never learned how
to be *men* together, I think, and I wonder where the hell that came from.
I push away from the table with one booted foot and lean back so far, the
chair nearly tips over. I am the fucking picture of nonchalance. "Like I
said, I grew up. He...moved on."
Which isn't the same thing. We both know it.
"If you don't care anymore, then why do you come?"
I concentrate on not choking on the smoke I just dragged into my lungs.
"No idea. Nothing better to do, I guess."
He tries another approach. "Why does he keep asking you to come?"
Now *that* is a damn good question. One I wish I knew the answer to.
"You'd have to ask him."
He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Odd, I never noticed how much
intelligence was in those eyes. "Oh, I will."
I'm not afraid of that predatory look. I've seen it way too much, far too
often in the faces of the boys I fuck. Looking for fame, fortune, a bed, a
meal ticket. Not necessarily in that order.
But I wonder why he doesn't ask me the one thing that does scare me to
death.
Why am I still keeping Brian's secret after all these years?
*****