Scott Sherman - First You Fall

“What ‘people like me?’”

“Supposedly straight guys who marry a woman and then screw around with boys on the side!”

“Oh, that’s just great.” Tony threw his arms in the air.

“Listen, I’m just saying that I don’t judge the choices you’ve made for your life. I don’t understand why you’re judging mine.”

“Because what you’re doing is illegal!”

“There are places where any sex between two men is il egal. Does that make it wrong?”

“You know this is different,” Tony hissed.

“I don’t do anything that injures anyone,” I said. “I probably save more marriages than I hurt.”

“Great! You’re Doctor Fucking Phil of the Whores!”

That was it. “Fuck you,” I said. “I don’t have to defend myself to you.”

“No,” Tony said, looking at me with contempt,

“save your defense for when you go to court.”

He got up and headed to the door.

“Here’s a news flash.” I shouted. “Things get tough and Tony Rinaldi gets going. Are you going to walk out on me again?”

Tony’s stare was ice. “I never should have walked back in. This was a mistake.”

As angry as I was, sadness started to seep in.

There he was, at another doorway that was about to separate us again.

This time, I figured, for the last time.

How beautiful he looked standing there, nostrils flaring, eyes narrowed, his body tense and ready for action.

My eyes wel ed with tears.

“Wait,” I said. “What if you don’t leave right now?

What if we just sit here for a minute?”

Tony looked like he wanted to hit me. But kind of like he wanted to kiss me, too. “A minute’s not going to change anything, Kevin.”

I tried to smile but my lips were trembling. “Five minutes, then.”

Tony’s expression didn’t waver, but I thought I saw a trace of sorrow in his eyes.

“This isn’t going to work, Kevin. I’m a cop, for Christ’s sake! What you’re doing is dangerous and wrong.”

“I’m bringing some joy into people’s lives,” I said.

“How is that wrong? We’re al consenting adults.”

“Wel, maybe I don’t want to be with someone who would consent to something like that.”

What could I say? “Maybe you don’t.”

Tony sighed and his shoulders relaxed. “I’m sorry, Kevin. This just isn’t something I can wrap my head around. It… disgusts me.”

Now a tear did drop down my face. “I disgust you?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know, Kevin. I just… what we did yesterday, was that just business to you, too?”

I felt like yel ing but could only croak. “No, Tony, no.” I reached a hand out to his face. “Tony, my whole life, no one else has ever touched me here.” I put my hand on my heart.

Tony brushed the tear from my cheek with his thumb. “But a lot of people have touched you everywhere else, though. Right?”

His gesture was kind but his words were cruel.

Was that how it was always going to be with Tony? Was he always going to be coming and going? Straight but gay? Loving yet hurtful?

After Tony dumped me, I spent seven years closing off my heart. Yet, when he came back into my life, I was only too ready to reopen it for him.

Maybe I was right the first time.

There’s this heartbreaking scene in The Prince of Tides where Barbra encounters Nick Nolte after he’s made the decision to dump her and return to his wife. Even though she sees him from across the street, she takes one look at him and realizes that he’s lost to her. She breaks into tears and they share a final embrace.

She doesn’t beg, she doesn’t plead.

She lets him go.

Let’s see if I could be as classy as she was.

I threw my arms around Tony and squeezed him tight. He didn’t hug back, but he didn’t pul away, either.

I wished he didn’t feel so fucking good, but there you have it.

I released him and opened the door. He looked surprised.

No more talking. The door is open, Tony. What are you going to do?

He looked at me unblinkingly for one long moment. I saw every kind of regret in his eyes.

His lips parted. I thought he was going to kiss me.

He walked out.

I closed the door, slid down to the floor, and cried myself hoarse.

After I got that out of my system, I took a long shower, put on some clean clothing, and pressed some ice against my cheek.

Truth was, my relationship with Tony died a hundred years ago. He was right. We never should have gotten back together. It was a mistake.

You can’t raise the dead.

You shouldn’t love the dead, either.

Tony was dead to me.

So was Al en.

Was that my problem? That I couldn’t let go?

If the police didn’t think Al en was murdered, maybe I should just accept it and move on.

After al, what was the point of pursuing Al en’s death? It had gotten me beaten up in a hotel room and cost me my one chance to reunite with the man who was probably the great love of my life.

That’s it, I decided, I’m through with Tony and with the Harringtons.

It was time to let the dead stay dead.

The phone rang. Tony? I thought, hating myself for wishing it was.

But Cal er ID told me it was another man who had been on my mind.

Paul Harrington was cal ing me.

“Tell me again what you want me to do,” Freddy asked when I cal ed him one minute after I finished talking with Paul.

“Just be at the bar where I’m going to meet Paul and sit in the back. I don’t want him to see you. Then just… watch. Just to make sure he doesn’t try anything funny.”

“Honey, I’ve seen Paul Harrington,” Freddy said.

“The only funny thing he’d try would be to give you a handjob under the table.”

“No, I think one of the Harrington boys might want to have me hurt.”

“Just because Michael looked like he wanted to eat you alive the other night? And I mean, like Hannibal Lecter wanted to eat Clarice,” Freddy clarified.

“No,” I answered. I told Freddy what happened at the hotel.

“What!” Freddy said. “Are you shitting me?”

“I wish I were.”

“Have you told your cop boyfriend about it?”

“I was about to, but then he dumped me.” I explained what just went down between me and Tony.

“Poor baby,” Freddy said. “Honey, I’m so sorry.”

Freddy loved me, but to tel you the truth, he didn’t sound that sorry.

“Thanks, but I real y don’t want to focus on that right now. The point is, we’re not going to get any help from him.”

“Doesn’t sound like. But why are you meeting Paul?”

“I don’t know,” I answered truthful y. “I guess I’m curious. He said he wanted to talk to me but he wouldn’t say why. I was just about to give up on the Harringtons when he cal ed. Maybe it’s a sign.”

“‘Wet floor’ is a sign, too, angel. One you’re supposed to avoid. Like the Harringtons.”

“I know, but if I don’t do this, I’l just spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. Let me see what he has to say. I’l let him know that the warning I got today worked and that I’m backing off.”

“Are you?”

“I was half an hour ago. Now, I don’t know. Wil you help me?”

“Honey,”

Freddy asked,

“what are you, meshuggana? Of course I’l be there. But listen- how about you cal me on your cel and leave it on the table while you and Paul talk. That way, I can listen, too.”

“You’re a genius,” I told him. “Thanks, Freddy.”

For our meeting, Paul picked a bar wel known as a place where married men of means could meet in a dark and discrete setting. From its mahogany bar to its twenty dol ar martinis, live piano player, and subdued track lighting, Intermission reeked of money and good taste.