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Chapter 28
The doorbell rang again, sounding more mechanically grumpy than it had the first two times.
“I’m coming, I’m coming!”
Ben stumbled for the door, kicking off the shoe that he had been putting on. He expected a late-night package delivery or someone handing out religious pamphlets as he opened the door. Instead he found an elegant woman wearing a black sequined dress and a hairstyle complex enough to puzzle M.C. Escher.
“How do I look?” Allison said, gesturing over her body like a showroom girl selling herself.
“Fabulous, but since when do you ring the doorbell?” Ben asked. “ The door wasn’t locked and you have a key anyway.”
“We have to conduct ourselves properly,” Allison said in her best English accent as she glided into the house. “We are on a date, you know.”
“Well, I still need to get my shoes on and check my hair.” Ben found one shoe in the hall before searching the living room for the other. “Jesus, you look good,” he said, eyeing Allison as he tied his laces. “I think I might be underdressed.”
“Hm,” Allison considered him over eyelashes that were longer than they’d been the day before. “Do you still have that grey sports jacket?”
“I think it’s clean, yeah. But grey with a pink dress shirt? Isn’t that kind of eighties?”
“You can pull it off, and there will be more colorfully dressed people where we are going.”
“I wish you would tell me where that is,” Ben complained.
“But that would ruin our secret romantic mystery date!”
“Stop calling it that,” Ben scolded.
“I need a date!” Allison pouted. “They never seem to happen when you’re married.”
“Take that up with Brian,” Ben said as he ducked into the bedroom to find his jacket.
“You could use a date too, you know,” Allison said when he returned. “It’s been two years,” she added as delicately as possible.
Ben shrugged in his jacket, trying to make it sit right on his shoulders. He stopped suddenly and fixed Allison with a stare. “That’s not what you’re doing, is it?”
“What?” Allison asked a bit too casually.
“No,” Ben said, beginning to take the jacket off. “Forget it, then.”
Allison rolled her eyes. “I’m not fixing you up with anyone.”
“No blind date?”
“Not blind, deaf, amputated, or anything else. It’s just me and you going out for a night on the town. Promise.”
Ben eyed her a moment longer before feeling satisfied. He glanced over at the framed photo of Jace on the end table. The full-length shot showed Jace sharply dressed in his flight attendant uniform, every detail immaculate from the white starched collar down to his pointed shoes.
Ben smiled. He had grown tired of Jace’s name being synonymous with sorrow. No longer would he tarnish his memory. Jace had gone out of his way to make him happy and it wouldn’t please him to see Ben moping around. The memories they had made together were all that was left, and these days Ben tried his best to find joy in them.
“Ready?” Allison prompted.
“Yup.”
The roles were a bit reversed for a traditional date. Not only was Allison driving, but she was also paying. Ben had been happy to oblige since he was perpetually strapped for cash these days. A meal out anywhere was appreciated, but he was nevertheless taken aback by her choice of dining establishment.
The restaurant was supposed to be Cajun, but how Mexican food and karaoke factored into that was beyond comprehension. Ben and Allison were severely overdressed considering the rowdy vibe of the dining room, but he was at least glad not to see any romantic hopefuls waiting at their table. Knowing Allison, she had only chosen this dive so they could sing together, which was fine by him. They picked over their greasy meals before abandoning them for the stage, where they crooned a number of their favorite songs together.
They continued singing in the car on the way to their next destination. Ben suspected they were going to hit a few clubs, but Allison drove them downtown to Second Street. She found a free parking spot, acting as if she had just won the lottery. Ben had to chuckle, envying her enthusiasm. They walked together for a few blocks until they approached an art gallery where people flittered in and out.
“This is why we needed the fancy duds?” Ben asked.
“Mm-hm.” Allison nodded. “Piece of gum?”
Ben accepted it from her with suspicion. “No blind dates?” he asked again.
Allison smiled broadly, and Ben knew it was too late. He took the gum anyway. Ben scanned the people standing outside the gallery, looking for someone who seemed particularly expectant or nervous. He didn’t spot anyone.
“We’re here to look at the art,” Allison said innocently.
Ben glanced through the nearest window and away again, before doing a double take. The painting on the nearest wall was of a bulldog, bounding through a canvas glowing with iridescent colors. Emotion raced through his system, centered in his chest and nestled there comfortably, glad to be home again after so many years.
“Want to go inside?” Allison asked gently.
“I don’t know if I can handle this,” Ben confessed.
“I’ll sort of make you anyway,” Allison whispered.
“Okay,” Ben laughed nervously. “Is he-- No, don’t tell me. Let’s just look at the art.”
They browsed through the gallery, Ben trying to focus on only the paintings, but his head whipped around every few seconds in an attempt to spot the artist. He recognized some of the paintings from their younger days. Others he had never seen before, pieces from a life that he hadn’t been a part of. One was beyond simple, a finger-painted frog on a box of some sort, that caused Ben to laugh despite his nervousness. And then there was the portrait of Eric, completed now and glorious in its beauty. A small crowd of admirers surrounded it.
The teeth-grinding sound of microphone reverb cut through the gallery. “Is this thing on? Whoa! Too loud. Sorry.”
Ben practically ran toward the sound of that voice. The rest of the gallery moved with him, clogging halls and frustrating his attempts to get there first. By the time he reached the main room, it was already half-full. Ben stood on his toes, straining to see past the people in front of him. The old man just ahead moved to join his wife before a portly lady scooted to the side, perhaps sensing the laser beams shooting from Ben’s eyes.
And there he was. Tim Wyman. He looked fantastic. The pudginess was gone from his belly, the tight dress shirt revealing the all-too-perfect physique that Tim had before meeting Ryan. His jet black hair had grown out some and was styled messily around the silver eyes that no longer looked tired. Instead they shone with a light that Ben had only seen in their most private moments. Those eyes were searching the crowd, but before they found Ben, the portly woman had shifted back, obscuring him from view.
“Uh, I’m really glad you all decided to be here,” Tim began. “I’m not really good at speeches, so bear with me.”
The audience laughed. Ben began working around to the side of the crowd, hunting for a way through to the front.
“The art you see here is about twenty years in the making. I’m sure most of you have seen my crowing achievement, ‘Frog Goes Sailing on Boat’?”
The audience laughed again.
“That’s from when I was eight and is the first painting I ever did.”
Ben had finally broken through to the front, but was so far to the side that he was beyond Tim’s peripheral vision. At least he could see him now, nervously shifting from foot to foot while mumbling into the microphone.