The Party
Tom awoke from his nap, not knowing where he was or when… checked his phone. Ugh! Four texts from Cindy. Noise downstairs… Max in the kitchen and somebody else… a woman’s voice. Tom got up, still dressed, stumbled into the hall, paused a moment and let his eyes adjust to the bright light. Remembered he was supposed to go to a party with Dez, looked at his phone, 8:30! Ugh! He needed to eat… put on some socks and shoes, splashed cold water on his face in the bathroom and went downstairs. Found Max in the kitchen with Harmony, from the Goat House—a co-housing community across the street, “Hi Tom!” Harmony said. Max did not look up from chopping onions and seemed tense.
“Hey Harmony. Whatcha guys do’n? Make’n some’ to eat?”
“Geesh, Tom! You’re as bad as him,” she gave Max a little hip check but he only grunted.
“Bad at what?”
“The English language. Y’all seem out t’ talk in noth’n but contractions,” she mimicked and hip checked Max who, once again, only grunted. Harmony taught middle school English and was a stickler for grammar.
“Yeah, well that’s cuz it’s American, not English. English ain’t even English, if’n y’ ever been over there?”
“Okay… I can tell it’s unserious day in Maxville,” she put a hand on Max’s back and leaned in to examine his progress, “How’s it going, Chief?” Tom sensed a spark between them and resistance maybe, from Max? “That looks good… a little more minced. Yeah, Tom… we are making French Onion soup. Would you like some? Poured over cheesy bread? There is plenty.”
“Sounds wonderful. I am starving. How about you Max? Are you not also feeling a bit peckish?”
“No refreshment, no welcome, can’t understand, strange treatment, old friend, says he’ll go, doesn’t move, not a sound…” Max only said, without looking up from his chopping.
“Okay… you guys are so weird!” Harmony shook her head and stepped away to check the bread.
Bang! Bang! Bang! A knock on the door, startled them. “Expect’n someone?” Max asked.
“Yeah, Dez. S’posed t’ go to a party.”
“Supposed to…” Harmony interjected.
“Supposed to go to a party with my friend Desmond! Jolly good chap. A real stickler for diction,” Tom yelled, on his way to the door, looked out the peephole… saw Dez in black light, smoking a joint, head in a cloud, looking at his phone.
“TB!” His face lit up, when Tom opened the door. They dapped and half hugged.
“Come on in, say hey to Max. Our neighbor, Harmony is here from across the street.”
“Aw… I dunno, TB. Cain’t we jus’ take a walk, brah? Grab some’ at a cart?”
He seemed nervous, kept looking at his phone, “Okay… sure. Let me get my coat,” Tom went back in to brush his teeth and get a jacket but Dez, on second thought, snuffed out his joint and followed, a few steps behind.
“My God! Is this land of the giants, or what? Hi, I’m Harmony!” She stepped up and shook Dez’s hand, as he entered the kitchen.
“What up, Shotty? Desmond Kahn. Please a make your acquaintance,” he bowed.
“You hungry? We are making French Onion soup, served over aged cheddar and bread. There is plenty, if you like? Nice to meet you. You work with Max, right? Live at Tom’s mom’s?”
“Uh, no, yeah… lived at Tom’s mom’s for a minute, work with Max sometimes… when he be slum’n it. Hey, I like! Be a good food cart—Tom’s Mom’s…” he held up giant hands as if framing a sign, “Or maybe, if’n I did, it’d be Uncle Tom’s Mom’s, cuz I ain’t race’n no mo’.”
Harmony did not know how to respond to this, particularly after Max and Tom laughed out loud and high fived all around. She lived in a house of activists who vigorously suppressed anything that resembled racial difference, however comedic, “Max… I’m a run home and grab that bottle of wine. Nice to meet you Dez,” she patted Tom’s arm and left the kitchen.
“Uh… that was awkward,” Tom said, once the front door slammed. They laughed again.
“Damn… shit be smell’n good!” Dez pulled up a stool and sat at the high counter, where Max chopped onions, took from his pocket a large bag of Swedish Fish and offered them around… to no takers.
“Yeah… chopped like a whole fuck’n bag a onions. Don’t know how many are come’n but this is ridiculous.”
“You want some help?” Tom asked, salivating at the smell, “Who’s come’n?”
“Uh, TB? We needs a get go’n, brah… no offense… snag some grape on the way.”
“You said 9?” Tom looked at the clock, “I need a eat some’.”
“It be 8:45, brah. They be food there. C’mon, we get y’ some’ at the co-op, needs a time this right, brah, get go’n…” he looked at his phone, texted someone, several times. Even though he had the biggest iPhone, it still looked small in his giant hands.
Tom noticed of late Dez seemed distracted, more than ever, in a rush to get going, on to the next thing, can’t stay in one place or be still. He grabbed a handful of chips and gave Max a quick update on Seamus, while Dez took a piss, asked if he thought there’d be any blowback from the morning’s events? His answer was peculiar, “Ha,” he laughed, “That was blowback,” Tom had no idea what that meant but made a mental note to ask, when he got the chance.
Dez returned, they said goodbye to Max and headed out the door, “What’s up, Dez? You seem nervous,” Tom asked, once out on the street, walking towards Alberta.
“Prob’ly the stimies,” Dez said, still texting.
“Hey,” Tom stopped, “C’mon man… talk to me. What are we do’n?”
“Go’n a par-tay!” He sent off a text and shoved the phone in his jacket pocket, for like the twentieth time, wore a dark blue sweat suit, with gold cuff and collar trim, pair of throw back Air Jordans—unlaced, a simple gold chain, Blazer ball-cap, “Blazers de-stroyed the Lakes last night, brah? You see that?”
He started walking again but Tom didn’t, “Dez, come on. What are we do’n? What is this party? What are you up to?”
“Aw, man… so dramatic, brah!” He turned and walked backwards saying, “Cain’t you jus’ go wit’ d’ flow, Holmes? Why I gots a draw a roadmap fo’? Go wit’ d’ flow, Bones. Don’t worry, be happy…” swung his head like, and launched into the song from one of two singing fishes Tom had on the wall in his dorm room at Knox, where they lived together one semester, before Dez hurt his knee and transferred to Nichols State. The other one sang Sinatra’s My Way.
“Very funny…” Tom felt surprisingly content to be out with Dez, cutting up, kept his mind off Isolt. His phone buzzed… Cindy… realized he hadn’t called her back. Turned it off, thought, Ugh! She gonna be pissed! “Hey!” Tom said, as they came to Everyday Wines, on Alberta, “You get your grape on and I’m a pop into the co-op and grab a bite,” Dez, looking at his phone again, nodded affirmative but stood for a long time texting, before he went in. Tom picked out a sandwich, then grazed the bulk bins and watched the wine shop, could see through the window when Dez finished, paid for his sandwich and met him back where they’d split. Dez held out a brown bagged bottle, “Put this in your purse, brah.”
“It’s not a purse,” Tom took and pulled it out of the bag, “Wow, this expensive?” Realized it was the Willamette Valley Pinot Noir which recently won Wine of the Year in a prestigious international competition. Tom carried a shoulder bag, where he kept things he always liked to have with—knife, first-aid kit, eye and ear protection, gloves, water bottle, respirator and whatever else was relevant in his daily life at the time, the outside zippered pocket was stuffed with Utter’s lists. He saved them every day, as reminder and potential fodder on down the writing road, liked to pencil in what they did as they went, modified each list and kept note of changes. Also started recording on his phone, the where and when of liaisons. Something he would get fired for, no doubt, if Seamus found out. Tom never imagined having his phone in hand like he had when Cindy called. Cindy… occurred to him again, as he secured the bottle in his bag, I should call and say… what? Was as yet unclear. He tried not to think about her, “What’s up with Blue?”
“Aw, brah… shit so fucked up. Guys try’n a do too much, play’n hero ball… Blue dig’n in the wrong spot. MK the wrong address, Jonesy’s all suck’n up to Seamus, act’n like he gots noth’n a do with it, all critical ‘n shit. Blue thinks Jonesy wants a run the crew ‘n be try’n a get ‘im fired. I seen it… tried a stop ‘em but they think Dez don’t know what up. So I jus’ keep my mouth shut, brah. Fly on the wall, yo? Work’n da guns,” he flexed and looked at his biceps.
“Fly on the wall?” I doubt that… Tom thought and recalled Dez’s edgy exchange with Seamus that morning and story about knowing Ellen, complaints of Dez mouthing off and being unwilling to do anything but grunt work. He was losing weight, Tom could see, starting to regain the old form… stimulants, probably. Had that only been this morning? Tom marveled at the pace of things and a thought crept in that only a week ago, he’d been sleeping next to Isolt. His heart skipped a beat and made itself known, “You been work’n out? You look’n good, man,” Tom checked his biceps and Dez flexed. They were huge.
“Ego Construction… who needs a gym? Work out ten hours a day, brah! You fuck’n kid’n me? Not sit’n on my ass, cruise’n wit’ the Big Boss all day.”
“Ugh! Believe me, I’d rather bust up concrete than drive him around. It’s fuck’n exhausting. What’s your connection here? Who invited you?”
“What a fuck, Sherlock? Write’n a book? Suffice it to say—Dez be connected! Brah! I serious! The Lakes suck! Kobe’s last legs, brah. Blaze got a chance, they don’ fuck it up. They will!”
Tom could get nothing more out of him and the party was like ten blocks away, not two. Dez fired up a blunt and resumed texting. Tom declined, when he offered, considered turning his phone back on but, what he assumed was, the house came into view on Alameda ridge, where 20th jogs around it—a contemporary three story box with deck on top, all steel and glass. A front accent wall, of what looked to Tom like walnut, sparkled with stars cast from a laser light generator set up in the tiny front yard. Walking down 20th, they could see it from a few blocks away and hear, as they got closer, a loud conversation going on between two older men out front, standing in the star stream, “Yeah… my left hand, she holds up like I didn’t know what it was, couldn’t feel or see it attached anywhere and wondered whose hand is that? “Why don’t you use it?” She says and points over my shoulder at cheerleader practice. They’re all wearing leather harnesses and doing a cheer, “Use it or lose it! Ready, okay! Use it or lose it, now you gonna choose it! To the left, to the left, to the left, you got this, girl!” A tiny girl climbs a pyramid of cheerleaders, all very stout and some of whom I think become men when I look at them. She stands on the top girl’s left hand, who I see doesn’t have a right, only like the handle of a slot machine sticks down. It seems I’m to climb and pull it up but my hands won’t respond until I see they’re rolling a joint. Case in point—“See?” I hold them out to the woman, careful not to spill any, demonstrate and say, “left hand use, quite complex…” but she interrupts before I can finish, winks and holds out her hand to a drive-in movie screen, showing close-ups of my hands rolling. Crumbs and crystals can be seen tumbling out into a meter. The numbers are staggering, losses per year, multiple O-Z’s,” he pulled a large joint from his pocket, lit it, took a hit and said, as he exhaled a giant cloud, “To the left, to the left… you boys partake?” Offered it to Dez and introduced himself as, “Paul Levy.”
“I dunno… we gonna be implicated in this waste case scenario?” Dez said and they all laughed, “Paul Levy… ain’t never hit none a that ‘fore,” they laughed again as he took a couple deep drags, smacked his lips as if smoking a fine cigar, then offered it to…
“Vin Marti. Pleasure… welcome, gentlemen,” who took a hit and offered it…
“Tom. Tom Brown. Don’t mind if I do. Thanks,” Tom took a hit and gave it back to Paul, said, “Go on… was that a dream you were tell’n?”
“Why… yes, yes it was. Quite perceptive of you. I do dreamwork analysis and was just demonstrating to my friend Vin here, who, by the way, is an amazing dancer, poetry in motion, soul itself, a poet as well, but I digress… no, yeah, um… we were speaking of right bias, as revealed to me in a dream. The roots go very deep, the way things are set up, feedback loops, etc. When I was a kid they discouraged you from writing with your left hand. Being left-handed, I remember teachers taking the pencil out of my wrong hand, they would actually say that, and put it in the right. Associated with the devil, once upon a time. P.E. teachers made me throw and hit right-handed. Anyway, I don’t mean to perseverate but in the dream I continue to argue and demonstrate on a typewriter how I can use my left as good as my right, in some cases… but I can’t figure out what keys correspond and only gobbledygook shows up. The mysterious woman laughs and walks away, looks over her shoulder seductively, as if to say, “I told you so.”
“Whoa!” Dez interjected, “That’s called a bitch boomerang! Dream ‘nalysis? Fo’ real? Peeps tell you they dreams?”
“Yes. Process Dreamwork, my method’s called. I help clients get in touch with and mine their dreams for significance, so to speak. Find what’s worth paying attention to topside, as we say. It has great therapeutic value, even just recording them. Do you record your dreams?” He gave them both cards.
Dez stashed his without looking, “Hell nah! That all the shit I try’n a forget!” Dez took out and looked at his phone, then at the house, waved and said, “ ‘scuse me, gentlemen. The ladies are wait’n,” and left. Seemed neither to need nor want his accompaniment further, so Tom stayed put and asked Vin, “What kind of dance do you do?”
“Oh… I… it’s hard to put into words. I guess it’s, uh… what I do and what I teach are very different. I mean, my method of movement exploration is called Soul Motion—Sensual Oasis Unlocking Lost Memory Obtained Thru Interrogations Of Now. A mouthful, I know and I don’t often share what it stands for with non-students but I wanted a shorthand, sort of mantra my graduates could recall when they perform or teach, brings the essence back in a nutshell, invokes spirit and that timeless quality, ever present. Are you interested in movement exploration?”
“Yeah, I am. I go to Sacred Circle, at the Tiffany? Downtown? Sunday mornings?”
“Ah, yes…” he had the look of one who’s been there and done that, “Sacred Circle… what do you think?” He obviously thought something.
“Um… hmmm, I like… uh,” he flashed back to his meeting with Aunt Eleanor, “think at first I liked how improvisational movement resembles what you do in basketball? I played a lot of ball and right away sensed that random response comes with sudden changes of direction or falling down and having to get back up fast as you can, run backwards the other way… in a swirling crowd of bodies, you know?”
“Very nice, very nice. Yes… I am not one for athletics, ridiculous waste of resources there, I mean… have some respect for the planet, but I see what you mean. It’s a great starting place,” he handed Tom two cards, “Here… if you want a deep dive. I run seven programs a year, six weeks each. Change your life… give one to your friend.”
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Tom,” Paul Levy extended his hand, “What is it you do?”
“Oh… I, uh, work construction… lot of planning and estimating jobs. Drive around the boss.”
They both looked as if they expected more, “And your healing modality?” Vin asked.
“My… healing modality?” Tom responded, unsure what he meant. Looked to a second floor window, where Dez appeared with two women he seemed to know well, both very attractive, from that distance, at least.
“Oh! No worries!” Paul put a hand on his upper arm, “You don’t know? This is a networking event, for people putting healing the planet first in their public works. But I don’t think there’s a registration or anything like that?” He looked at Vin who shrugged. “Anyway, I’m sure you’re welcome. And your friend, Dez? He has a practice?”
“Uh… not that I know of but I don’t know everything.”
“He has… quite a presence,” Vin said, looking towards the house, “Seems… up to something.”
Tom thought that a strange thing to say but kind of felt the same and just shrugged.
“Well… shall we?” Paul gestured and they all went in. Tom, a little upset that Dez disappeared like that, almost bowed out and left but felt surprisingly energized by the two hits he’d had and wanted to find out why Dez was there? Paul and Vin seemed confident and well established, so Tom appreciated the opportunity to enter with them.
“Who’s house is this?” He asked.
“Amanda Parsons,” they answered together and Paul yielded to Vin, “Lead singer/songwriter from the band The Amanda Parsons Project? They do a lot of planet consciousness stuff. Really popular worldwide… she’s worked with us both,” Paul nodded, in confirmation, as they entered the house.
Inside was fantastic but Tom didn’t much care for the exterior’s glorified postmodern shed look. With corrugated tin used as siding and deck rail. The giant three story metal clad box, seemed like a fuck you to neighbors and Portland in general. Railings engineered, driveway engineered, toilets engineered… he was channeling Seamus, who hated and refused to build in that style, “Maximize the square feet for people to put things they don’t need.” They entered a big open space with little furniture, a lot of sculpture and very large paintings, small stage in one corner, man on bass, woman playing keyboards. Room crowded, everyone had drinks and no one seemed to be doing anything other than being at a party, talking over loud music, so Tom broke off and explored a little, away from the noise… found a long narrow kitchen towards the back of the house, set his bag on the counter and made himself a whiskey sour. Several drink recipes were taped to stainless steel cabinet doors above a lot of bottles arranged on concrete countertops—ground down to reveal embedded nuts and bolts and washers. Tom thought back to Max telling him about Matilda’s collection of ocean glass. Really cool… but the thought of grinding off all that concrete made Tom cringe… but then he thought—what if you grind every surface, with different size grinders and discs, custom made tiny heads… he looked around and wondered—what if you textured every surface? Put a whirl pattern on the cabinet doors, etch the counters with rotational grooves, like on sidewalks you sometimes see, when people grind down the root heaves?
“Could you make me one of those, please?”
Startled, Tom turned towards her and said, “Whoa, pony! I was out there.”
The woman, very beautiful, tall and thin, late thirties, blond hair tucked up under an old fedora, grabbed a sponge from the sink and wiped off the counter like she lived there, moving bottles around, “Yeah, you were… wait! Did you say—Whoa, pony?”
“Uh… yeah. I’m Tom Brown,” he put his hand out and shook hers, which was wet.
“Too cute! Did you say that as a kid or something?”
“No… my girlfriend… uh, ex-girlfriend, said it. Yes… quite endearing,” thinking of Isolt, he teared up a little.
“Oh, pony,” she stopped what she was doing and put a hand on Tom’s chest, “I feel you… heartbreak sucks!” Tom fell in love, “Amanda Parsons…” she withdrew her hand like she shouldn’t have put it there to begin with and said, “Now… my drink?”
“Oh, yeah… sorry, I spaced it,” he started looking for the ingredients but she had rearranged everything, felt like he was playing that pea in the shell game and hadn’t paid attention.
“OMG! Come on… You spaced it? Is this the 70’s show or something?” She feigned a search for cameras, “You’re not sorry for being where you aren’t supposed to be in the first place?”
Tom, super stoned, wondered why no one was in there making drinks and loading plates? Noted ornate snack trays spread over several counters, beautifully arranged, all tightly covered in plastic. Amanda playfully pushed him out of the way and started making drinks at a very fast pace. Two servers came in—white shirts, black pants, trays in hand, hair pulled back. Tom put two and two together and said, “Oh… I’m sorry. I wondered why there wasn’t anybody… in here?” Gestured at the spread.
“It’s a galley kitchen. Ever been in a house before?” She laughed and touched his hand in a tender way, “No worries… wait a minute and we can go back together,” she turned to the servers and handed them both a piece of paper. Late teens, early twenties, they looked exasperated, like this was not what they’d signed on for. One looked like she could have been Amanda’s little sister. She took an arm each and instructed them, “That’s the list and… um, everything times two, now. There’s a lot more than we expected. Don’t rush. Okay?” They nodded, “If anyone is rude, at all… come tell or text me, right away?” She let go of them and turned towards Tom, “I’ll have my new bodyguard beat ‘em up and throw ‘em out. What do you think, can we trust him?” She winked, “No!” They both said in unison and shook their heads, “Don’t trust men,” as if it was something she taught them, taped up their lists and started frantically making drinks. Amanda took Tom’s arm and led him through the galley kitchen and onto a covered deck that faced west and looked out over the city. Tom could hear music and laughter from above, what he guessed was the rooftop, two floors up. She tenderly took his left hand with both of hers and set his heart to racing, said, “Wait here. I’m a get us something to eat… and another drink?” Tom nodded. Could not believe his luck. What a knockout she was! And… she came back, bottle of whiskey, pack of Indian Spirits in hand, set it all on a nearby table and announced, “Sorry Tom, I don’t know who you came with but I’m kidnapping you for the time being. Consider yourself hostage. You have to stay and smoke with me… if you do smoke. And if you don’t? I’ll stay over by the filter sucking thing and try not to give you cancer,” she popped the cork on a bottle of Bulleit Bourbon, poured two glasses and pushed one towards him, said, “Sit! Drink! Nastrovya!” I gotta put my feet up a minute. I hate these chairs. They weigh a fuck’n ton,” kicked off her boots and scooted around to put her feet up on the rail.
“Even if I didn’t smoke… I would now,” Tom blurted out, wanted her to know he didn’t smoke but would, with her and had before… cautioned himself at overreacting to the circumstance, wondered where was Dez?
“Aw, you’re so sweet. Sit a spell, put your feet up and drink!”
“Been a long day. Don’t mind if I do?” Tom positioned a chair and put his feet on the rail, felt really stoned. They seemed so big and he felt like a goofy kid. Finished his drink and started sipping on a glass of Bulleit. She lit a joint and took a hit, offered it to him. He accepted and took a bigger hit than intended, started coughing and blew smoke out his nose, which hurt a lot. Felt like an idiot and apologized, as scorched sinuses made him cry.
Amanda laughed and said, “No worries, Tom. Relax, it’s a party! No… seriously, it must be weird, me dragging you out here… some crazed bitch you don’t know from Adam but don’t worry… no pressure, just looking for someone not trying to heal me. That you… you think?”
She had an amazingly disarming manner. Used to accommodating and reassuring people intimidated by her, perhaps? Tom marveled again at her beauty in the dim light, the way she looked at you with one eye, bangs across the other, “Yeah, that’s me. No healing techniques, I just stay sick. Don’t know why I’m here, actually. Did you ask me why I’m here? Live up the street and a friend invited, uh… insisted, I come with him but didn’t tell me what it was. We smoked out front with two old guys… blew my mind… they said it was a healing thing… tmi.”
“Old? You do hard work, don’t you? Who were the guys?”
“Uh, yeah. Construction. Vin and Paul.”
“Whoa, pony! Wait! Is that right? That’s how you use it, right? Like… far out? Whoa, pony! Love it! I’m a steal it! Yeah, no… smoke’n with those boys’ll put a hammer in your head. Vin gets dope shit, medical and Paul’s just… freakish. You aren’t driving, are you? I can give you a ride home if you want.”
“Oh no, I live over… close by.”
“Cuz, I’m not too gone… yet,” she drained her glass and nodded at the bottle as if he should refill it, said, “But I’m a get there!” Took another big drink, when he did, and nodded he should keep up, “I’d love to get away from this shit show.”
“Why? It’s not your… shit show?” His thoughts ran in so many different directions at once, hoped he didn’t sound like an idiot.
“Yeah, it is… and no, it’s not… but I did agree my people would cater it and then gave most of them the night off, cuz I’m a dumbass and thought a healing the planet party isn’t going to go off rail and get all fucked up and gorge themselves and puke blood in my bathroom, are they? JK! No one puked blood in the bathroom! My partner is one of them. Ugh! You’re not one of them, are you? He hasn’t healed me. Hasn’t even tried.”
“Uh… them?” Tom hesitated, felt his spirits drop, hearing she had a partner.
“No!” She went on, “Sorry, that sounds weird and creepy,” put her hand on his wrist, “What I mean is: Are not you a healing practitioner, sir? Massage therapist? Reiki Master leading orgasmic sex retreats in the depths of an old growth forest, healing the planet and making bank in the process? Sorry, I know—cynical and got a big mouth, cuz her foot’s in it most a the time!”
“No… I know what you mean. I’m not here for that. Hard enough being sick. Hey! Wanna hear a joke?”
“Yes! Please! Some comic relief! No pressure… but I’m a tough audience,” she lit a cigarette, took a couple drags and offered it to Tom. Tom took a drag and gave it back, felt immediately light headed, “You can have your own,” she said, another one already in hand but as yet unlit.
“No, thanks. If I smoke more, I’ll get sick. What does your partner do?”
“Oooo… Mr. Healthy! I like it! My partner, I hate that word but husband and boyfriend are worse… he’s an LMT with a Masters in Sports Medicine, emphasis on chronic conditions arising from misalignment,” she said, in a deep and important sounding voice, “And that’s fine, gives a hell of a massage but he’s got this sideline—magnetic resonance beds? MRB’s? I call it MR. B’s. MR. B’s makes like 5G apiece. Swears it’s good for everything and everyone, especially the environment! We have like… a lot of them, in the house… every room… well, the deluxe one’s out in the garage, broken.”
“Do you ever have sex on them?” Genuinely curious, Tom felt he could, even should, be uncensored. Her having already taken liberties with him beyond any he would ever consider… but regretted saying it, nonetheless, began to feel in over his head.
“Why Tom? How… No… we don’t have sex. You want to have sex with me on one of them?”
Yes! He wanted to scream and embrace her straightforwardness but said instead, “Um… I shouldn’t have… sorry for saying that. Please, forgive me? I don’t smoke much and…”
“Oh God… relax Tom. You’re starting to worry me. We’re just messing around at a heal the planet party. What could be more innocent,” she took another big drink and drag on her cigarette, “What could be more innocent than that? You Adam and I, Eve? First time is for everything… Got to get back to The Gar-ar-ar-ar-ar-ar-arden,” she sang a soft lick, “How many –ar’s are there? No, don’t answer that… unfortunately, we got to get back to the bor-or-or-or-or-ore-fest. Come with me? Be my wing man? Watch out for my nieces?” She snuffed out and tossed her cigarette over the rail, put what looked like bright orange felted wool cowboy boots back on and stood with a loud screech of heavy wrought iron chair, “I hate these chairs. They weigh a ton,” held out a hand to help him up.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Tom took it. She had a very strong grip and pulled him all at once to his feet and close in to her with ease, stood on her tiptoes and whispered, “Stop saying that. You sound like you just walked off the farm,” pulled down his head and kissed him on the lips.
“I did… and into the frying pan…” he kissed her back, had no idea her intentions, where they were headed or what she expected of him as a wing man. They made out a minute, then wound their way back to the big room where, latched onto his left arm, she literally hung on him, at times, like a shy little kid, trying to hide behind a parent, using him as a prop. Tom scanned for Dez, as they circulated in the big open space. She greeted and spoke with many people, and Tom soon realized… most eyes in the room were on them. This made him very uncomfortable and when she introduced him as, “Tom not-a-healing-practitioner Brown,” or “Tom my new bodyguard Brown a couple times too many, he whispered in her ear, when they got a private moment, “Thank you so much for making me feel welcome, Amanda. I love being your wing man. Hope we can fly together again soon but I need to find my friend.”
She looked up at him, smile quivering as if she were struggling to keep it up, patted his chest with one hand, moved in real close, closed her eyes and wrinkled her nose and with the other hand behind his neck, pulled his face to hers and said, still with eyes closed, “Go, pony… find your friend,” pushed him away and opened her eyes. When he looked into them again… she was different, distant, gone, closed off, a persona… like now he was outside looking in, just another one of the anonymous thousands, admiring from a distance. His heart hurt, as he walked across the room and resisted looking back. Amanda returned to the galley kitchen and started making drinks and heating up snacks, sacrificed her own good time to save her nieces and nephew, there on her request, from being abused by fucked up adults, always wanting more… now!
Tom made his way to the stairs, saw a few faces he recognized from dance, nodded but didn’t say anything. Party raging, full cacophony, he could barely hear himself think. Did not even want to attempt a conversation. House full of smoke, he wanted to get outside, figured Dez might be on the roof and headed that way. It took half an hour to the third floor, where he then had to stand in line, one person per step, up a spiral stair. The roof deck, at capacity, they had to wait until someone left via another set of steps, apparently, as no one ever came down theirs.
“Haven’t I seen you at dance?” A woman, one step up, who’d been staring, asked Tom.
“Yeah, I think so,” Tom always answered in the affirmative, when asked this, as he saw so many people at dance and never remembered if he actually met them. He and Isolt often mused on how difficult it was to describe someone from dance. Even after being in the same place, intimately engaged, they still could almost never, in the absence of a name, get who the other described. They all took another step up, Tom still five from the top.
“Yeah… I’ve had to take time off. I like going to Contact Jam, more than Sacred Circle but I keep getting hurt… such amateurs. I’m from the Bay Area, a lot more professional and experienced dancers there and I got used to people knowing what they are doing, I guess, because here I get hurt a lot. People here are reckless.”
“Oh? That’s too bad,” they went up another step.
“Yeah… like little kids, think all they need is to say, “sorry,” and that makes it all better. Do you go to contact? Or just Sacred Circle? Ever been to Muse?” Tom wondered what the weight limit on spiral stairs was? And just as he was about to answer—“No, never been to Muse,” they surged and ascended all at once. Apparently, a call had gone out to meet in the first floor big room and Tom saw, across the roof, a line waiting to descend and Dez’s head disappear below the roofline, on what must be exterior stairs. He almost shouted out but Dez would not be able to reverse course, even if he heard and if he tried, as he might, it would be an absurd scene, trying to get back up that way. Everyone who’d been on the spiral stairs, turned around and went back down, squeezing past and alerting others on the way until… Tom stood alone on the roof. The music died off and he wished now Amanda would come up and kiss him again. This time he’d be ready… he needed to pee, looked around, went to the west end where it was darkest and peed over the rail. Heard someone emerge from the spiral steps, as he finished, zipped up too quick and pee ran down his leg, something he hated. A tallish woman with long wavy hair and loose flowing skirt, in medium high heels and a bulky cardigan, approached him in a deliberate way made Tom fear it had something to do with Dez. When she got close, however, Tom realized it was Catherine… Herself.
“Tom?” Obviously looking for him, “Oh good,” she sounded pleasantly surprised, “I thought you’d left.”
They’d met once, when Tom drove Seamus to pick up a piece of certified mail from the house. Catherine was on the big front porch having tea with their first born—Sinead, when they pulled up. Thirty-something, unmarried and without kids, Sinead Egan worked for a big time law firm in Chicago. Angry at and avoiding Seamus, she went in and slammed the front door behind her, before he, still on crutches, got anywhere close to the porch. Catherine walked over, descended and handed him the mail when he reached the steps, said, “It came yesterday. I signed for it. Hope that’s okay,” introduced herself to Tom and extended a hand but Seamus snatched the envelope, swatted her hand away and forced Tom to turn around by poking him with a crutch and saying, “Nope! I told you—stay in the truck! Go on! We gotta get!” Tom waved, turned and did not look back until in the truck, starting it up… saw her standing, in front of the screen door, arms crossed, long sweater to her knees, bare feet, wearing jeans and looking concerned.
“Tom?” She said again, as if needing acknowledgement that he did in fact recognize her.
“Yes… Catherine?”
“Herself,” that cracked the ice and they both laughed, standing in the dappled light from a long string of yellow party bulbs. Over six feet tall with heels on, she stood, arms crossed, as she had on the porch that day, swaying gently in the cool breeze. The way she carried herself… the name fit. Where Seamus seemed an old craggy peak, pockmarked and weather bent… Herself, was a wildflower filled meadow, next to a crystal clear stream… Tom felt mesmerized, seeing her, in this context. Knew she moved in yogic/new age circles, from what Max had said but never did he think he’d be standing alone, with Herself, on a famous person’s rooftop. One of those moments you don’t want to end but also feel like, maybe… never should begin.
“I’m involved with Dez,” she said, like one might say—Nice night, isn’t it?
Shocked, Tom knew not how to respond. Like watching for something you’re not sure has gone by yet. All the nice things he was thinking to say… Amanda Parsons came to mind, for some reason, he wondered if Catherine knew her? Was even going to ask, then… Cindy and how mad she must be, at him not calling her back, popped up, as he fondled the phone in his jacket pocket, awaiting some response to coalesce, knowing he was just standing there blank.
Cat, shifted weight to the other leg and re-crossed her arms impatiently, cocked her head to one side and asked, “You going to say anything?”
Tom wanted to say something but couldn’t think, “Uh… I don’t know what to say. I wish…” he stopped, unable to formulate it.
“What do you wish, Tom?”
She felt so much wiser than him, having raised kids, lived with Seamus. Even now, it was like she was there to help him get through this, the consummate mother figure, “I don’t… I don’t want to know this. Why?” It hit him hard and he felt a little sick. Leaned against the rail, crossed his arms and said, “Why?” Felt stupid, asking that.
“I don’t know, Tom. But I wanted to give you a heads up because…”
“Why? Why tell me that? I don’t need to know! You know I’m driving him?” Tom cried a little, in frustration, felt a lot of throbbing pressure in his head of a sudden… Seamus… Dez… weed… Amanda… and now crying in front of Catherine? But Dez? What? This could not be happening! “You know this will…” leapt out of him involuntarily but it seemed the most obvious thing in the world—Seamus will find out, go crazy and fire Dez… if not kill him and probably Tom too, “How can I look him in the eye, knowing this?”
“Tom… we all have to eat what’s on our plate.”
“What does that even mean?” Tom wanted to scream but managed to keep it down, felt like a little kid, even though she wasn’t that much older than him.
“It means we don’t get to choose our battles. If it’s not Dez, it’ll be someone else… and you really think that matters? He knows everyone I know, Tom. Max told me you understand him better than anyone he’s ever met. That true?”
“No!” Tom felt trapped, like way more was going on behind his back than he was comfortable with, “You told Max?” Tom’s instinct was to contain it, like a dangerous virus whose rapid spread would be catastrophic to so many people’s lives.
“No. I merely inquired after your character, for obvious reasons but… no, I did not tell him about Dez. There is no reason he needs to know. He knows how unstable Seamus is.”
“Yes! So why? So much… so many people depend on him.”
“What? What do you want me to do, Tom? Live my life to protect his fragile ego? Been there, done that… I’m over it!” She uncrossed her arms and raised her voice.
Tom could only imagine what cohabitating and raising kids with Seamus must have been like but could there be a worse choice than this? “I’m sorry. I don’t know how you did it… with him… but I don’t want to be involved.”
She laughed.
“What? I didn’t ask for this,” Tom snapped.
“Oh please, Tom. Aren’t you writing his life story? Max told me… you were.”
“What? No! His life story? I’m not… look, I… I am interested… but the writing’s just…” Tom didn’t even know what it was, “a way to pass the time. He likes to tell stories.”
“He certainly does.”
“He’s still in love with you…”
“Oh, please Tom, stop!”
“What? You don’t think so?”
“Don’t… you’re way out of… whatever. You want to acknowledge the elephant?”
“The what?”
“The elephant in the room, Tom! His affairs!” She said this, way too loud.
Affairs… it hit like a ton of bricks and Tom felt embarrassed, standing before this, by all accounts—magnificent woman and mother, to gloss over in any way how despicable Seamus is, “I’m sorry… I’m so, so sorry…” he started to cry again and accepted Catherine’s offer of a hug, “I know how he is. I’m sorry if I… said stupid shit.”
Catherine embraced him a long moment, stepped back and, at arms length, looked into his tear filled eyes, “Look at me… it’s okay, Tom. It’s okay. I’ve no one to blame but myself. I made my bed and I’m not about finding fault with others. But believe me, I’ve gone over it a b’zillion times, don’t you know? Through long sleepless nights… made myself sick. You know how hard it is to make him listen? To be unbiased with the kids? Seamus inspires loyalty in people, Tom. Don’t let yours be blind. Help him, if you can. I trust Max and he thinks you’re gifted. I hope so. But remember this—if the ship goes down, he’ll save himself… walk all over you and anyone else, if he has to, don’t you know?”
Tom didn’t believe this and was amazed, in the moment, at that fact. He knew Seamus was selfish but how do you command the allegiance of a hundred some men (and three women) over so many years, talented tradesmen with lots of options, if they aren’t, by and large, satisfied with your leadership and choices? Seamus employed and retained the best Portland had to offer, in the way of free spirits, unwilling to let the government control and/or steal from them.
“TB!” Dez emerged from the exterior staircase, with a laughing Amanda Parsons hanging on one arm, practically drug her along, she was laughing so hard, “Told you… they was up here. Ugh!”
“Tom not-a-healing-practitioner Blonde… I mean B-rown!” They both started laughing uproariously. Amanda, very drunk now, carrying a near empty bottle of bourbon, still hung on Dez’s arm, who leaned away, to counterbalance her weight. Finally he just picked her up under one arm, crossed the space between them and set her down next to Catherine, who stood patiently waiting.
“Whoa, pony! You are really strong guy! What’s your sign?” She burst out laughing again, took another swig and threw the bottle and its remaining contents over the rail.
“Amanda! You could hit somebody! Come here!” Catherine pulled her in close, put an arm around her shoulders and said, “Hey, Dez.”
“Hey, Cat… you tell him?” Dez seemed more mature in that brief exchange than Tom had ever seen him, as he stood close to and spoke thus with Catherine.
“Why di’n’t you come back? Tom B-londe, leave’n me alone, blah, blah, blah… talk’n stupid people. You’re Tom Blonde now, pony… I decided. Brown’s too dirty, yuck! You’re a little ditzy head case blonde boy. We decided,” she indicated her and Dez, “you gonna bleach your hair and start surfing,” Amanda whispered something to Catherine, who nodded and let her go. She staggered a few steps to stand in front of Tom, looking very serious, took both his hands and said, “You… come with me ’n leave these lovebirds alone,” tried to pull him away while walking backwards.
This was too much for Tom. Tired and dizzy, he remembered his bag in the galley kitchen, “Hey… whoa, pony!” She tripped and almost fell, when he didn’t budge.
“Hey… you’re really big strong guy too… Tommy Tom-tom! Tom-tom Tommy tom-tom-blonde…” she started making up a nonsense song but soon laughed too hard to sing, when what he said, sunk in, “Whoa, pony! You said it… I love that!” Arms around his neck, he bent and she kissed him on the lips.
Tom did not reciprocate the kiss, “Amanda?” He said, against her lips.
“Yes, Tommy Tom-tom?” She kept hers to his, “Kiss me!”
“Not right now. Can you take me to that kitchen? Find my bag.”
“Yo, TB… how’s ‘bout that vino? That still in yo’ purse?” Catherine stood next to Dez. She held onto his arm with both hands; leaning into one another like sweet lovebirds.
So many things ping ponged around Tom’s brain. What Catherine said, feelings in his chest, fear of where this would tend… not fear, really but dread… “Uh, it’s with my bag, in the back kitchen.”
“Galley kitchen! Not back kitchen. Don’t call it that!” She let go his neck and faux punched Tom in the chest, “Carry me like he did,” pointed at Dez, “You’re big strong guy.”
“Where is your partner… in all of this? Isn’t he here? The healing practitioner? Mr. B’s dealer?”
“Oh… your’n a be a party-pooper! Tommy Tom-Tom… don’t be a poop… Tom B. Blonde… lighten up!” She broke out laughing hysterically again.
Tom kept hold of her with one arm, even though he wanted to go home and go to sleep.
“He’s out of town. They’re not…” Cat said and shook her head to indicate they weren’t together.
“Yeah, fuck’n moron. What kinda… healing practitioner plans a party ‘n goes outa town? Butthead fuck’n moron! That’s who!” Amanda latched onto his shirt with her teeth and tossed her head side to side, like a dog trying to tear off a piece.
Tom wondered for a moment what she would be like in restraints, “Stop, please,” he put a hand to either side of her head and pushed it away but she kept his shirt clamped between her teeth and looked deep into his eyes again, penetrating him. Tom kept hold until she let go and stuck out her tongue. He looked into her big eyes and said, “I’m sorry to hear that, Amanda. But I would really like to get my bag, give Dez his vino and go home. No offense but I gotta…”
“Work tomorrow! Work tomorrow! Fuck’n work tomorrow! Don’t say it! I’m a write a song. So sick a hearing about work tomorrow! It’s today folks… we’re still alive! Celebrate!” She wriggled her fingers and bolted for the spiral stairs, “I’m a get your bag ‘n then we have’n a sleepover! Hope you got a toothbrush in there!” She disappeared down the stairs.
“I think she fancies you, Tom,” Catherine smiled and said.
“Yeah? You think? What are you guys doing?” He looked at Dez, who only raised an eyebrow, half shrugged and looked to Catherine. Tom had never seen him so placid and deferential.
“Tom… I swear! Everybody’s so dramatic. We’re grown ups, don’t you know?”
Tom pointed at Dez and said, “He brought me here… why? So you could tell me what it would be a lot better not to know? How do I look him in the eye?”
“You’ll find a way… everyone does. Poor old Seamus… gets whatever he wants.”
Tom could see now where Dez’s attitude was coming from, “Quit,” he snapped at him, “Don’t keep working there Dez. You know what will happen.”
Catherine rolled her eyes and exclaimed, “Oh God! What will happen? So dramatic, you boys.”
“You’re kidding, right? Seamus’ll go at him with a shovel or hammer or… fire him, at least, make a big scene when he finds out. Why go there?”
“He’s not a violent man, for all his talk, Tom. He’s never hurt anyone. Mouth a mile long, I’ll grant you that. Seen more’n once, somebody wanting to knock his teeth out, don’t you know?”
A vision of Seamus unfolding a lock-blade against his leg, ready to stab a man, flashed in Tom’s head and then the story of him throwing a croquet stake into another kid’s back in the fourth grade… are they talking about the same man? Had moving out of the house changed him back? Hard to believe with the stories he tells about his violent past, that she could be right about him, but maybe he exaggerates, “You got anything to say?” He addressed Dez.
“Ah, TB. Brah…” he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer, “Best thing ever happen a me, right here, TB. I’m a new man, tell you what. I can’t say it enough. Amazing… us,” they looked into each others eyes and smiled big. Dez stooped and kissed her on the lips, just as Amanda came back up the steps.
“Aaahhh! Sooo cuuute! Mission accomplished!” She held up the bottle in one hand and in the other, Tom’s bag.
Catherine ducked out of Dez’s embrace and met Amanda halfway, took the bottle and said, “You must try this wine, Tom. Incredible! Won an international taste test—Oregon Pinot Noir! Willamette Valley. Stay and have a glass. Dez, get some glasses. There’s a bar sink over there, you’ll probably have to wash them,” she pointed towards an alcove, across the roof, “I’ll help you,” handed the bottle to Tom, “Open this. We need to let it breathe six minutes.”
“Opener?” Tom asked, as she and Dez set off across the roof, collecting glasses on the way.
“Hey!” Amanda yelled, way louder than necessary, “See if there’s a corkscrew!” She had quite a voice, obviously. Tom reached for his bag. “No!” She protected and pulled it close to her chest.
“What? There’s an opener in there! C’mon.”
“No! You’ll leave!” She turned half away, like a little kid.
“I am going to leave, Amanda… with my bag. After we have a glass of wine.”
“Okay… yep! In the morning,” she leaned in and whispered, “After we make love all night on MR. B’s,” snatched the bottle back. Had the look of a mischievous and very determined child.
Tom, tempted… already had enough on his plate and could not tolerate another night without sleep, “I can’t, Amanda. See how things feel tomorrow. Too much go’n on. Give it… c’mon.”
Dez and Catherine came back with glasses and a corkscrew, “How much do I owe you for this? Before I forget,” Cat asked Dez, dug into her purse and pulled out a billfold, as he handed out glasses and gave Tom the opener.
“One-forty-five,” Dez replied, “Last one she had.”
Tom heard about it from Teri and went to Everyday Wines the week before he left, thinking he might give it a try, but couldn’t quite bring himself to pay $89 for a bottle of wine, wondered if Dez inflated the price.
“Really!” Catherine gasped, “That much?” Dug out and handed him three fifties, said, “Keep the change. I mean, I know it’s popular but it’s like… not even aged yet, don’t you know?”
“Yeah, no… so in demand, lady said she shipped five cases to LeBron James in fact, only place he could find it. That’s where her backstock went, online purchases a the rich and famous.”
Amanda stood next and leaned into Tom with increasing force, “What are you doing?” He asked and leaned back, so as not to lose his balance.
“Try’n a get you to MR. B’s,” she grunted and started pushing him towards the stairs.
“Stop!” Tom refused to move and grabbed at his bag.
“Would you two stop it? Amanda!” Cat snapped.
“What? He’s not pay’n attention to me,” she flapped her arms like a little kid, almost spilled the contents of his bag and dropped the bottle.
“Give me that, before you break it!” Cat picked it up, “Come on, girl. You’re a red hot mess!”
“Ugh! Don’t say that. Yuck! God… you sound like Twyla Twit!” She stopped pushing on Tom, hit him in the arm and stuck out her tongue.
“Who’s Twyla Twit?” Tom asked, reaching for his bag.
“Oh… you know… fuck’n… what’s her fuck’n name? Taylor Sharp… No! Ha! Floydian slip! Taylor Swift. OMG! That’s so funny! Hey Dez! You get that from Vin, like I told you?” Dez reached into his pocket and pulled out a fat joint, “Fire ‘t up, homey! Shit be like weed crack, man! Let’s get this pah-ty stah-ted!” She did a little dance step and tripped but Tom caught her before she fell.
When Amanda wasn’t looking Catherine shook her head no. Dez shrugged and returned the joint to his pocket. Cat poured them all a glass.
“I pur-pose a toast!” Amanda shouted, once upright and everyone had some, “To… what? Uh… wait, it was right there on the tick of my tum-tum… ugh, senior moment… oh yeah! To the hope tonight doesn’t blow up in our face!” She took a big gulp, as if she planned to chug it but turned her head right away and blew out an atomized cloud of red wine from her mouth, started laughing hysterically and once able to speak again, said, “Oh my God! That almost came out my nose!”
“Okay… somebody’s getting a little sloppy and needs to go to bed. We all do,” Catherine took Amanda’s glass and slid Tom’s bag from her shoulder as she feebly pawed at it, “Let’s go, say goodnight to everyone, Amanda.”
She grabbed a hold of Tom’s sleeve and with a serious plea, said, “It sucks sleeping here alone. Stay? Please! We don’t have to do anything.”
Catherine pried her hand off Tom’s sleeve, “Come on, honey, let go. Tom needs to go home. He works very early and will call you tomorrow. Right, Tom?”
“Yes, I will call you tomorrow,” he thought of Cindy and wondered where she was? “So great to meet and hang out with you. Definitely the highlight of my night.”
She looked up and whispered something to Catherine, who nodded and let go, whence
she shuffled over to Tom, pulled his head down to hers, whispered in his ear, “Whoa, pony. I’d really like to go for a ride some time,” and kissed him on the cheek.
Tom blushed and said, “Me too. Me too…” could not believe he was walking away from a night in bed with Amanda Parsons. But… she has a partner.
They disappeared and he finally had a chance to speak with Dez alone. They tasted the wine, for a minute, “Hey… that’s really something!” Tom had never tasted anything like it, “Wow!”
“Right. Dat some dope shit! Third bottle this week! Cat love’n it!”
“Dez?”
He held up a hand, like he knew what was coming next, “Aw, main. Don’t gi’ me no lecture, brah. He deserves it. Treat her like shit. No way I’m a back down. Fuck ‘im!”
“Jesus!” Tom hissed, “Only thing I’m a say is—quit! Don’t go in. Stop working for him. You work for him, Dez! I’ll settle up and get you paid out.”
“Aw, c’mon, TB! I need a fuck’n job, brah! Jus’ get’n on m’ feet. Where else’m I gonna make that kinda green? Don’t get all bent outa shape ‘n shit. He ain’t gonna find out. We chill.”
“Chill! This is not chill, Dez!” He gestured at the spread, “How many people saw you guys tonight? Seamus knows everybody. He will find out.”
“Yeah… well, we’ll settle up then.”
“No! That is so fucked up, man. That can’t… won’t happen.”
“Whatever… I ain’t scared a him. Dude’s a fuck’n psycho.”
“Yes! Listen to yourself… it doesn’t make any sense. Don’t fuck around with psychos!”
“Okay,” Catherine emerged from the spiral stairs, “I got her in the tub but we need to move on before she gets restless. The back way,” she pointed to the exterior stairway. They collected their stuff and hurried down the steps, “You want a ride home, Tom? I’m happy to drop you off,” Catherine said, as they reached her Range Rover, parked in the drive.
“No, thanks, I need a walk. Thanks for the chat. Sorry if I… uh, you know… how he is.”
Dez, already in and buckled up, looked at his phone, as they spoke, “You are a saint, Tom, looking out for him. It’s a big job, I know. There is so much at stake… all I can say is… be careful and trust Max. And call Amanda… you won’t like how she is, if you don’t. She’s not like this all the time. It’s a bit of a rough patch… still living with him. We know how that goes. Anyhow… good luck. Peace be with you,” they embraced. She walked around, got in, buckled up and appeared to scold Dez, who put away his phone and only nodded at Tom in the outside mirror, as they pulled away.
Tom stood for a long time in Amanda’s drive, watching the laser light show sparkle on a tree out front, trying unsuccessfully to detect a pattern. Hard for him to believe she was in there alone. The huge house near filled a double lot, three stories tall with full basement. He marveled at how close he felt to and yet knew so little about her. Looked at his phone… eight texts and four calls from Cindy. It was 3:16 and he had to pick up Seamus at 7. Why even go to bed? He looked again at the house, imagined Amanda watching him. Waved goodbye and started walking home. His phone rang, “Really?” He answered.
It was Amanda, “You’re going? I’m in here alone, naked, freshly bathed, warming up MR. B’s and you’re leaving… again?”
Tom walked backwards, looking at the house as they talked, “Oh my God… were you watch’n me?”
“Of course… looked like you were going to make the right choice… for a minute.”
“Which was?”
“Now you’re playing dumb. Come back here… I won’t hurt you.”
Tom thought he saw her pull aside the curtains and peek out a third floor window but then the laser light show hit and when it moved on, she was gone, “Amanda, I wish I could but I can’t. I am exhausted…”
“Perfect! Me too… we can just cuddle and sleep together.”
“I’m sorry but… I don’t… I couldn’t sleep, probably. You… I am very attracted to you…”
“I know, Tom. Me too… come on. I want you… in my bed, now! And you’re not turning around! Fine! Strike One!” She hung up.
“Okay… easy enough,” he silenced his phone and set the alarm, said out loud, “Lead me not into temptation…” Thought about Dez and why he would do this? Wondered where and how they met? Feared he would latch on, do and say whatever necessary to keep her. Can you blame him? He must feel like the luckiest guy on earth but Tom could not imagine a less likely pair and given the circumstances, actually prayed, in his own way, that it would end ASAP, for the good of everyone concerned. Front door unlocked, the house was dark. Without turning on lights, he went to the kitchen, slammed a big glass of water and filled another to take upstairs, which he set on the desk by his bed, laid down and passed out at 3:32, without removing clothes or boots.