“Is he being turned out by his family or something?”
“No, I don’t think it’s anything like that. I think he goes to the college nearby, and they’ve been fucking for a while. And the kid needed a place to move or something, and he moved into the cop’s house, and they’re pretending to everyone that he’s the son of one of the cop’s college friends.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Because the cop is closeted too?”
“Yeah. He lives in a small town. You know how it is. He used to be married, but now he’s divorced. No one knows about him there. And, by the way, I didn’t want to put this in an email, but I’m seriously thinking of killing myself if I can’t get him back.”
“Oh please, Sam.”
“I’m serious. Do you think you can help me? Do you think there’s any chance for me?”
“I don’t know what you’ve done so far. Have you done anything crazy?”
“I don’t think so, I haven’t even seen him since he moved the kid in. We’ve only talked on the phone. I just can’t believe it would be the same with him as it was between us.”
“The kid is how old?”
“Nineteen.”
“And the cop?”
“Forty-two.”
“Yeah, some guys get really into that stuff, you know. You’re what, twenty-six?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“So it’s no contest age-wise.”
“What does that mean?”
“If he’s into really young guys, and you’re almost ten years older than the kid, there’s not much you can do. Is the kid like a skinny twink or something?”
“Not at all. He’s like a dumpy kid from Odessa.”
“Oh! Well that could be good for you.”
“That’s what I keep thinking. And I’m quitting smoking and I got some running shoes. And I’ve told the cop all that so he knows that I’m really improving and all.”
“Listen, telling him too much of that kind of stuff is going to make you seem like a needy weirdo. I had a boyfriend once who did this kind of thing after I split up with him.”
“Did it work?”
“It actually sort of did, but only after he chilled out and left me alone for a while.”
“Did he remind you of the good times you had together?”
“Maybe. I don’t really remember. Is the cop kind of dumb?”
“Not at all. He’s a smart guy. Why would you ask that?”
“I mean, small town Texas cop. I wouldn’t say most of them are geniuses.”
“I don’t think he’s like a big reader or anything, but he’s a bright guy for sure.”
“Then he probably sees through whatever shit you’re doing to manipulate him.”
“But don’t you think it’s a good sign that he’s still talking to me on the phone?”
“Yeah, I’d say that’s a good sign. But you should stop calling him for a while.”
“But then we won’t ever talk.”
“You’ve got to give the guy some room to breathe. Moving a new boyfriend into your house is kind of a big deal. Especially a teenager. God, his life is probably crazy enough without you stressing him out more.”
“What if I’ve done that already?”
“I think the answer either way is to leave him alone for a while and work on yourself.”
“But how do I get him to call me?”
“I’ve never even met this guy, Sam.”
“God, I don’t want to not call. How long do you think that would take for him to call me?”
“I have no idea, Sam.”
“Well, estimate, Malcolm.” I was crying into the phone.
“Between one and two weeks.”
“Are you kidding? Why not say ‘between this year and next year?’”
“I’m basing this on absolutely nothing, Sam.”
“Okay, so answer this: do you think there’s any way they’ll last? Do you think the relationship can work?”
“I mean, just based on what you’ve told me, I would say no. I don’t think things like this typically last.”
“What’s the average duration? I mean, it’s already been weeks, and I don’t think they’re getting tired of one another at all yet.”
“They’re not going to get tired of one another in a few weeks.”
“So how long do you think they’ll last?”
There was a long pause on the line during which I was perfectly silent. I pictured Malcolm’s eyes trained at the ceiling as he tabulated factors in his head.
“Six months, max. It’ll be a miracle if they make it longer than that.”
I took in what he was saying. Six months sounded right. It was the maximum duration of a fling, a period you could look back on years later and laugh saying, “You think you had a midlife crisis? Maybe you’ve forgotten that I moved a teenager into my house.”
I kept a wall calendar hidden under a pile of papers on my desk on which I was marking the date and time of every conversation I had with the cop. I also noted every other relevant development I could track via his email — their trips, spats, dinners at restaurants.
“Six months from when they moved in together?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say that’s about the limit of it.”
Looking at the calendar, I told myself I could bear anything for six months. I flipped through and marked the date six months from the day they moved in together.
“You’re going to have to find a way to calm down and just let this go for a while.”
“I’m going to quit smoking and take up running.”
“You said that. Listen, Sam, it’s getting late, and I have to be up early. We can talk again tomorrow if you want.”
“You need to go?”
“Yeah, I should.”
“Don’t you want to jerk off first?”
“I’m not too much in the mood actually. This has been kind of heavy.”
“Oh, come on. It’ll help me sleep.”
“We can if you want to, I guess.”
“Yeah, if you’re cool with it.”
“Sure. Okay, Sam. Let me get my dick out.”
18
ONCE I WAS REASONABLY CONFIDENT THAT THE LEATHER and denim couple hadn’t infected me with any diseases, I started wishing to see them again. That was the way it was out there. You’d run into someone two or three times, and it would seem inevitable they’d always be around. Then you’d go out one night at the time when you always ran into them, and they wouldn’t be there, and then you’d never see them again.
It was that way with the Marine. I met him out there on five or six occasions. He wasn’t at all my type. My age, fit, with just a patch or two of hair around his nipples and at the center of his chest. A couple of times it was shaved, but usually it wasn’t. He was a handsome guy, and he had a mysterious aura of sensitivity, which I found strange for a Marine.
I met him on a Thanksgiving night. Everyone I knew had left town to be with their families, but I didn’t get holidays off at the motel. I was avoiding my family anyway. My sister had told my parents about me and the cop after I made the mistake of confiding, and they had left two angry-sounding messages on my voice-mail, which I ignored and deleted.
A couple of friends expressed pity that I was alone on Thanksgiving, but I didn’t mind. The cop was home alone too. He had to work and had encouraged the kid to go visit his family in Odessa. The kid had left on Tuesday, and the two of them had been emailing several times a day since. The kid was having his share of family problems too, it turned out, and the cop was emailing him things like, “I know it’s hard, but you have to do your best to strengthen familial bonds.” And “You only have one mother.” And “Try to see things from the perspective of your father.” I thought I detected a kind of preachy, parental tone in his emails to the kid, but it was hard to know if he was trying to sound wise or just rational. I fantasized that maybe he’d phone me out of loneliness or boredom, but he didn’t, so I went to the arcade after work.