“If I tortured you, would you tell me?”
He chuckled. “It’s hard to know in advance. What kind of torture?”
“Is there any kind that would be more likely to work?” I said, walking circles around his cage.
“I don’t know right off. Maybe if I were inclined to think about it, I might come up with one that might strike me as being more likely to work. But I’m not inclined to think about it.”
“Is there any other circumstance under which you could foresee telling me about that thing?”
“I’m not inclined to think about that either right now. Could you please put the music back on.”
I did, hoping I might find out more from his facial expression than from his words. But I didn’t, as it turned out, even though he kept listening to the tape over and over, that day and the next.
Three days later, not having seen Nathaniel since the acquisition of my new man-pet a week before, I agreed to have dinner with him at a restaurant. I informed Damon of this.
“You have a boyfriend?”
“Of course, what did you think?”
“Nothing. It’s good. You just never mentioned him.”
“That’s true. And I also never mentioned that he’s the one who composed and played those cello pieces you like so much. I mean: that you feel such communion with.”
“Really? That’s funny,” he said, without smiling.
During dinner, Nathaniel said to me, “Something weird is going on that you’re not telling me.”
“No.”
“Yes. Something has happened, hasn’t it?”
“Like what?”
“You tell me. Have you met somebody? Are you interested in somebody else? Or is it Damon? Have you seen him again and you’re not telling me?”
“Yes. We’re cohabiting.”
“Just tell me the truth. It’s fine if that’s what it is. I just want to know. Please.”
“That’s not what it is. But I think you’re taking our relationship a bit too seriously. Maybe we should take it easy for a while.”
“No! You mean sexually? Sexually, that’s fine, but not as friends, not as people. I don’t want us to take it easy as people.”
I was touched. “Okay, but then ease off a bit, okay?”
“Sure. Are you living with someone?”
“No. Are you kidding?”
“Just answer me.”
“I did.”
“Prove it then. I want to see your apartment.”
“Why?”
“You haven’t let me see it in a while.”
“No.”
“If you don’t, I’ll assume you’re living with Damon, which is fine, I just want to know the truth.”
“First of all, why would you assume such a thing? And second of all, I don’t care what you assume.”
“You should. If you tell me, or show me, that you’re living with Damon, it’s fine. I’ll be sad and jealous, but I’ll accept it. But if you leave me in a state of assumption, I will react to it; I’ll notify your parents and the police. I’ll tell them you’re living with him.”
“Do you think this endears you to me?”
“I don’t care!” he shouted, slapping the table with his palm. “I just want to know the truth!” He was on the verge of tears, and added: “If you do show me your apartment, though, you must do it right now, so that you don’t have time to hide anything.”
I thought about this for a minute, and then said “Okay.” I didn’t want to risk having Nathaniel talk to my parents or the police, filling their heads with this absurd idea that I was living with Damon. And anyway, I had locked everything sensitive before leaving: Damon’s room and the new closet with my control panel.
I took Nathaniel to my apartment, and he noticed the new closet, and the open sofa bed.
“Who’s been sleeping here?” he asked.
“Me.”
“Why?”
“Because the heater in my bedroom is broken, and I can’t have someone come in to fix it because it’s too messy in there.”
He marched toward my bedroom door and tried to open it. “Why is it locked?”
“Because it’s so messy. I don’t want anybody to see it. It’s embarrassing.”
“This is too weird. I want to see your bedroom.”
“No.”
“What kind of relationship do we have if I can’t see your bedroom?”
“A not very important one.”
“Why are you being cruel?”
“I’m just being factual. I don’t want to lead you on.”
“You could be living with someone in your bedroom.”
“Yes, I could be. And I lock him in when I leave my apartment.”
He laughed. The tension seemed to have eased, but suddenly his body stiffened. “Where’s your TV?”
“It’s in my messy bedroom.”
“Why?”
“Because the person I’m living with, in my bedroom, enjoys watching TV.”
We laughed, and I added: “Particularly that soap opera The Bold and the Beautiful.”
At this remark, his eyes opened unnaturally wide.
As I stared at him staring at me, it occurred to me that I should write a letter to those producers of The Bold and the Beautiful, asking them if they had noticed a phenomenon involving men and their show, and if so, could they explain it to me.
Finally, he turned away, mumbling to himself, “This doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”
“But maybe it does mean something,” I said. “And if it does, Nathaniel, what does it mean? What is the meaning of The Bold and the Beautiful?”
“None, as far as I know.”
“Then why does it disturb certain people, like you?”
“And who?”
The conversation went nowhere. I had sex with him, to put his mind completely at ease. It was an interesting sensation to have sex while someone was in a cage nearby.
Nathaniel wanted to see me again, a couple of days later, as was normal for a lover, but I had very little desire to see him. I kept making excuses. He got paranoid and suspicious again. So I saw him.
“You look unhappy,” said Damon, when I came home after being with Nathaniel. With the remote control to the tape deck, he turned off the cello music, which he had rarely stopped listening to since I had introduced him to it.
I plopped down in the lounge chair. “I want to break up with my boyfriend, your precious cellist.”
“Why?”
“Because he threatened to tell my parents, and the police, that I’m living with you. Can you imagine?”
“What gall the man has.”
“I know.”
“So you told him?”
“No. I mean, not seriously. He’s paranoid.”
I wasn’t exactly telling Damon the truth. Nathaniel had not, this time, threatened to tell my parents anything. I wanted to break up with him because for some mysterious reason — a reason I didn’t want to delve into too deeply — the thought of him having sex with me didn’t appeal to me anymore. Not that it ever had. But now, I didn’t even feel neutral or indifferent about it. I was opposed, turned off; I had an actual aversion to it, and the strange thing was that it didn’t have much to do with Nathaniel.
Damon was wrong. I was not unhappy. I felt cheerful and liberated at the thought of breaking up with Nathaniel, light and playful. I imagine it was the same sort of feeling people have after taking a laxative that worked. I didn’t know if I would have the courage to do it, though. I felt sorry for him. But I soon forgot about it as I spoke of other topics with my pet.
Two days later, Chriskate Turschicraw called me, saying she had something important to tell me and asking if we could meet somewhere. We met in a coffee shop. She was disguised in a black wig and sunglasses. She informed me that she had not stopped loving Nathaniel, that she had simply put on a show, hoping to perk his interest. She told me frankly that she was distressed that I was going out with him and that she needed to tell me about something that happened in her past with Nathaniel.