“YES, MS. Carrington. I sure will,” Charlie said into the phone. “Hold please.” Then, “Gay, I have Cyan on the phone.”
“Oh, thank goodness!” she cried. “Transfer my dear Dark Witch through.”
Dark Witch. Only one of Cyan Carrington’s biggest hits, or at least her most remembered.
Charlie transferred the call and then looked—or tried to—at the list on his computer screen. Tried not to look in the lower right-hand corner.
The Christmas dinner was going to happen. Yes! Charlie could barely believe it. He studied the list.
ME: Turkey, Stuffing, Gravy—pie?
HARRY & CODY: Green Bean Casserole, Bread, Pumpkin Pie
FRANK AND RAY: Yams, Mashed Potatoes, Cranberry Sauce. Pie?
Charlie really was detail-oriented, the reason why Gay had kept him on when he’d only stepped in to help her as a temp some years before (about the time he’d met Gerald).
He was making the turkey because he loved making the turkey. Plus, it was easier for the host to make it and pull it out of the oven fresh and hot. The stuffing, because he didn’t always like the weird ways people made it.
I mean, oysters? Oysters? Really? Could there be anything grosser than oysters in dressing in a turkey?
The gravy, because the best gravy was made from the drippings of the turkey. It only made sense.
Cody wanted to bake the bread fresh. He said there was nothing better than the smell of freshly baked bread filling the house. It was one of the few good memories he had from his childhood. He’d been excited at the idea of a big old-fashioned Christmas dinner. Charlie wasn’t too sure about big old-fashioned Christmas. But it would be dinner.
Harry insisted on making the green bean casserole because he said his version was famous. Charlie wasn’t sure about that, but he was simply happy they’d have a vegetable—something that wasn’t carbs.
It was Harry who made the suggestion about his neighbors Frank and Ray, and Charlie was thrilled at how fast they agreed. He’d met them at Cody’s birthday party last year.
Despite himself, he glanced down at the bottom right-hand corner of his computer. 5:14 p.m. Forty-six minutes from now was…. No. Don’t think about it.
The phone rang. “Oasis Agency,” he answered. “May I help you? Oh! Hello, Mr. Eisenberg. Yes! She is expecting you. One minute.” He put the actor, Kansas City’s own Asher Eisenberg, on hold for a moment, then checked to see Gay wasn’t on the phone anymore and let her know who was waiting for her.
“Gosh. Yes. Put him through!”
Back to his list.
Frank and Ray were bringing both yams and mashed potatoes. Because Frank loved mashed potatoes and Ray loved yams. “And what’s wrong with having both?” Ray asked. “My granny always made both.”
Yeah. Why not?
It was interesting how different the two men were, but maybe it was those differences that made them work.
Boy! Could he and Tory be any more different?
Stop it! Tory? Really? Geez. Was this horniness? Maybe he just needed to get on craigslist! That’s what Gerald did when he got horny, right? Once he apparently got tired of having sex with me, that is.
Don’t think about that.
He hadn’t liked it when Gerald insisted they open up their relationship, showing him in a book called The Male Couple that most gay men weren’t monogamous, at least after a set number of years. The first time Gerald had gone off to be with another man had near killed Charlie.
But then afterward Gerald had been his old self. The sweet, fun, affectionate one.
It didn’t last. Two or three months, maybe?
And then he’d go off on another “playdate”—God, that phrase had made Charlie’s gut turn—and as much as Charlie hated that, Gerald seemed to bring that old version of Gerald—the one Charlie had fallen for—back home with him when he returned.
He supposed that’s why he had put up with it, although he’d never even once slept with anyone but Gerald while they were together, despite his lover’s insistence that he could, even should. But Charlie was too old-fashioned. The truth was, the sex had never been that great. At first he thought it was, but as time passed, Charlie realized it was really the fact that he was having sex and having it with a partner that he liked.
Not loved? asked Aunt Charlotte.
When he heard Harry and Cody and especially their neighbor Frank, talk about sex, he began to suspect that he was missing out on something.
And while he wasn’t a virgin before he met Gerald, pretty much all his experiences until then had been one-night stands, which were awkward and always left him feeling a little cheap afterward. He began to wonder if the loving would ever be as good for him as it seemed to be for everybody else. Or was there something wrong with him? If maybe he should just give up?
The thought of craigslist surfaced again, but no. No way. Charlie couldn’t imagine shopping for sex like shopping for dishes on an online website! Sex was way too personal.
Besides, hadn’t Gerald said you couldn’t advertise for sex anymore on craigslist?
Stop! Stop thinking about him!
The list!
The cranberry sauce Charlie could take or leave. But Frank was making it from scratch. Charlie had never had anything except the gross jelly stuff from a can. So what the heck? Maybe it would be good.
And he’d written “Pie?” there at the end because—pumpkin pie? How did that say Christmas? And would one pie be enough?
With Harry’s neighbors, he had five. Surely that would be enough. But a choice would have been nice.
Six people. Now that would have been nice. But he’d been afraid to ask any of his single friends for dinner, despite the fact that he knew a few of them had no place to go, because he didn’t want them to think he was asking for a date. So he would be the fifth wheel at his own Christmas meal. But that was okay.
And funny, but being the fifth wheel was better than having Gerald at his side. A man so pretty on the outside but who turned out to be so ugly on the inside.
Why did I stay with him?
You’re not with him now. It was Aunt Charlotte again. He never knew when she’d show up.
But he left me, he told her.
And if that’s not something to be thankful for, I don’t know what is.
But will I ever have someone at my side at special holiday events like Thanksgiving or Christmas? Kissing on New Year’s Eve? Sitting on a picnic blanket and watching fireworks on the Fourth of July, for God’s sake? Someone who truly loves me?
No answer.
Charlie glanced down at that lower corner of his computer screen for perhaps the twenty-fifth time in the last hour. Maybe the fiftieth.
(Seventy-fifth?)
He couldn’t help it.
It was five thirty.
Six o’clock was the time when Tory said he was teaching his class. And gosh, it would be so nice to see the young man again. Just the thought of those hazel eyes and his not-quite-a-beard (would the hair be soft? sharp?) made his heart rush and started a stirring in his slacks. God. Had a man ever really made him feel this way?
No.
Not since he was about fourteen anyway.
But a ceramics class? Like he could do such a thing! He’d make a fool of himself. Five layers of red glaze for the berries? He’d make a mess. Then everyone would laugh. Or at least they would behind his back. And he didn’t want Tory to think anything bad about him.
That’s silly, and you know it.
“Well, we need to get out of here,” Gay said, startling him.
Charlie looked up from his computer. “What?” And did a double take. What in the world was she wearing? This morning it had been faux tiger skin (but to the nines). Now she was in an oversized T-shirt with jeans? And tennis shoes? Of course the T-shirt did say Queen of the Universe, and there were crowns on the tops of each of her shoes. But whoa! He couldn’t remember when he’d ever seen her so dressed down outside her home.
“We’ve got Tory’s ceramics class.”
His eyes widened. “What?”
“I shit thee not. I told you it’s been a long time since I’ve done ceramics, and hearing Tory talk about his classes… well, I got excited.”
“So why me?” he asked, his voice cracking like a teenager’s.
“How else am I going to get you to go? You’re never going to have the nerve on your own.”
Charlie gulped. Actually felt the sweat break out over his forehead. Geez. His stomach. It was twisting in knots. Why in the world was he feeling like this?
Gay raised one of her perfect eyebrows and gave him a little smirk. “You know you’re dying to go. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t give you a little push?”
He wasn’t sure about that. Charlie still didn’t think he had the talent required for such work. His pieces would look like a preschooler had done them. But in the end, the idea of seeing Tory again was too much to resist.
He’d never kiss such a beautiful young man, but the class would still be nice.
Gay grinned.
And he knew he’d lost the fight.