Scott Sherman - First You Fall

Tony sank to his knees and put his arms around me. “It’s OK,” he comforted me.

“Two way glass,” I reminded him as we embraced.

“Fuck ‘em,” Tony answered.

After a few minutes, I told Tony I was al right and he returned to his seat. “Can you talk a little more?” he asked me.

“Sure.”

“Listen, that’s a pretty big chunk of change Al en left you. Just what was going on between you two, anyway?”

“Just friends,” I told him. Tony raised an eyebrow.

“I swear. I think he liked having a young man he could mentor and look out for. Especial y since his own kids were estranged.”

Tony nodded. “OK, I buy it. But if that was your relationship, then maybe he didn’t feel comfortable sharing his problems with you. After al, if he was your father figure, maybe he didn’t want to seem weak in front of you.”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“We may never know,” Tony said. “Al I’m saying is that you need to move on. The evidence shows that Al en kil ed himself. And that’s not exactly rare these days.”

I remembered something Tony had said at the bar.

“That’s right, you told me about that-a series of gay suicides.”

“Yeah, but that’s off the record.”

“Did you ever find out if Al en knew any of the other victims?”

“There’s no evidence either way.”

I tried to think of another question, but I was at a dead end.

Dead. End.

I shuddered.

My phone rang.

“Do you need to get that?” Tony asked.

“Not now,” I told him. We just looked at each other.

How beautiful he was at that moment, his face showing nothing but concern for me. I felt teary again.

“Are you going to be al right?” he asked me.

I nodded. I brushed my hair out of my eyes and looked at him sadly.

“I wish I could kiss you right now,” Tony said.

But you always have a reason not to kiss me, I thought, don’t you, and there’s a two way mirror, and my dear friend is dead, and we can’t go to your place because your wife might be home, and we can’t go to my place because my mother might be home, and someone just left me over fifty thousand dollars and that kind of kills my last excuse not to go back to school, and if you knew what I really did for a living you’d probably kill me and I think I’m falling in love with you again and you hurt me so much the last time and oh, this is all so complicated!

Too many bal s in the air.

Time to let one drop.

With Tony no longer investigating Al en’s death, there was one less reason for us to keep seeing each other.

Especial y since he was married. To a woman, yet.

I had to tel him that this was it for us.

Another dead end.

At least I’d be the one to end it this time.

I was just about to tel him so when he said,

“Listen, Kevin, with me closing the case and al, I guess that means we have to decide if we’re going to keep seeing each other. And I think, maybe, we should talk about it.”

“What?” I said louder than I intended to.

“Wel, I just think that you’re looking for something more than I am, and while I can’t deny that I’m attracted to you, I just don’t want to…”

“No way,” I interrupted him. “No way are you dumping me again.”

“I’m not dumping you,” Tony said. “I’m just saying I don’t want to hurt you down the line…”

“So you’re hurting me now?”

“No, what I’m saying is…”

“What you’re saying is bul shit,” I told him. “And you can’t break up with me, damn it, because I was just about to break up with you.”

Tony raised his eyebrows. “You were?”

“Yes.”

“Wel, I wasn’t breaking up with you,” Tony said. “I was just saying we need to talk about it.”

“Oh, yeah?” I said. “Oh, yeah?” I couldn’t believe how angry I was with him, but at the same time, I wasn’t sure what I was angry about. After al, I had been thinking the same thing.

Then I realized I was angry because I was afraid. I had built a great wal around my heart, and I didn’t want to get hurt again.

Even my hustling was al about separating sex from my feelings.

Feelings, I thought, were overrated.

I sat stumped as to where to go from here.

“Anyway,” Tony said, “how can we ‘break up’? We aren’t exactly going out. I’m not sure there’s a word for what we’re doing…”

Silence. We sat and looked at each other for a minute that felt like ten.

“OK, maybe you’re right,” I said. “Maybe we shouldn’t see each other anymore.”

“I didn’t say that,” Tony said. “I just said I didn’t want to hurt you again.” He reached out and put his hand on top of mine. “Is that real y so wrong of me?

Not to want to hurt you?”

“No,” I answered softly. “Not so wrong.”

“If I didn’t care for you so much,” Tony said, “I wouldn’t be so torn up about this.”

“So, you could see me if you liked me less?”

“You know what I mean.”

I sighed. “Yeah.”

“So, what do you want to do?”

I want you to leave your wife, I thought. I want you to marry me and I want to bear your children and I want you to love me forever. Like I’ve loved you, Tony. Ever since we were kids growing up down the block from each other. Forever. Is that too much to ask?

“I don’t know,” I answered.

“Neither do I.”

We sat quietly for a moment.

I drew my hand away.

I realized I had a very important question for him.

“Tony, just tel me this: are you real y happy? With your wife, I mean.”

“Yes,” Tony said with the quickness of a practiced liar. Then he bit his lip, frowned. “No. It’s complicated.”

“Happy is complicated?” I asked.

“I don’t want to give you false hope.”

“How about real hope, then?”

Tony smiled, but it was a sad smile.

“Things would have been a lot simpler if we hadn’t run into each other,” Tony said.

But we did. At the scene of Al en’s death. Al en, who was always trying to arrange things for me, who was always trying to lead me to what’s best for me.

Had he led me to this?

Suddenly, I didn’t need Tony’s hope anymore. I had my own.

“Tel you what,” I said. “How about we just take some time? Figure this out. Give ourselves some space.”

“‘Space.’ Is that what you real y want?” Tony asked.

“No, not real y,” I said. “But it’s what I get.”

Walking out of the police station, I felt strangely buoyant. I should have been sad, but I just felt relieved.

If things with Tony were meant to be, they’d be.

If not, I’d go on.

Either way, it was nice not to have to think about it for a while.

My phone vibrated in my pocket to tel me I had a message.

It was Roger Folds, the fund-raiser from The Stuff of Life. He was letting me know that he was home for the evening. He would appreciate if I could drop off his stuff.

Now that Tony had me convinced Al en’s death real y was a suicide, I was tempted to skip it.

Stil, I told Vicki I would take care of it, so I would.

“You’re wearing that?” my mother asked, appal ed, as I got ready to leave my apartment.

I was dressed in flip flops, short denim shorts, and a tight white T-shirt that rode high on my bel y.

“What happened?” she continued. “Did you buy Jessica Simpson’s used wardrobe off eBay? You look like a hooker.”

I was dying to say, “Yes, Mom, I am a hooker,” but it sounded too much like a Lifetime movie starring Tori Spel ing, so I just shrugged.

“It’s hot out,” I said.