Parts of the Whole — Part 2: Pressure and Possibility

Mass Ave was no Chicago neighborhood, but it was a nice place to live. As far as Indianapolis went it was about the most culturally active area in the city, a hovel tucked away between industrial warehouses, financial districts, and ghettos, far from the beaten tourist paths. Here, the ever-present influence of franchises, Simon Malls, and convention-goers-du-jour gave way to the avant garde, the independent shopkeep, the city boys and girls making believe that Indianapolis is a real city, not just some empty shell occasionally filled to the brim with the next great event.

Besides, most of the guys on Mass Ave were as cute as they were accessible. So much so, in fact, that I was making a nice red mess of my arm with all the rubber band snappings on my wrist. Audrey watched with distanced concern, as if any movement would cause me to reel back in terror. So I did the only thing I could think to do: I skirted the issue.

As we rounded a corner I looked to her hips. "You had a tail this morning. Really. Swear to God you did."

"A tail. Right." She took my hand and we walked together for a bit. To our left, a street performer handed out kazoos and encouraged us to join his little band, but we kept walking. "I mean, I remember the dream and all, but I'm not that crazy, and if I'd been that drunk I'd be hungover all to hell right now." One thing was for sure: Hope didn't play by simple rules. It was just Audrey out in public: same old, same old. Straightforward, nice, a little unsure of herself — but trying.

"Must have been me," I offered. "Been stressed lately."

"What with your mom trying to ruin you and all that," Audrey said. "Come on. I'm hungry. How's Old Point sound?"

It wasn't so much a question as it was a default. The Old Point Tavern was just a part of our lives, like breathing or sleeping. I can't tell you the number of nights I've spent under its red neon glow in the night, or the plethora of Sundays where I stopped by for chili and a beer. Once you're known there, you're there; the little triangle of a building that says "welcome" and never, ever turns you away.

We sat on the patio. It was a bit chilly out there, and most people were bundled for the occasion, but there was just no point spending such a lovely, early spring morning cooped up inside. Audrey leaned over to me while we waited. "You think your mom will see us?"

"Nah. She probably came into town just to talk to me. Happens all the time." A crowd of bikers whizzed past the intersection amid honking cars. Feels good to get out and see the world go by.

"What's her deal?"

I shrugged. "She wants grandkids."

I could have sworn the whiskers came out as she pushed further. "And what's your deal, letting her toss you around like that?"

I had no answer. Thankfully this didn't mean much of anything, as my favorite waiter came to the table right on time. Steve. "Mornin, Lance," he said to me. My gosh, was his voice ever wonderful! "How's the day treating you?"

"I've had worse." He touched me. We laughed together. He squeezed my collar and I could feel my heart quiver in my throat. "But I'm here, and that's something. What's on special?"

I don't remember what I ordered – mostly I just wanted to hear his voice ramble through the soups and salads and beers-du-jour. When he walked away my eyes rested on his broad, muscled shoulders and perfectly-kempt hair just a moment longer than any straight guy would have – how could I not look – until I got myself back under control with a few snaps of the rubber band.

When I looked to Audrey the whiskers were definitely there.

"That's Steve?"

"Yes," I responded. Then I looked away.

"That's heart-beating-in-chest Steve?"

He brought our beers; I waited until he left before I continued. "Yes. That's the very one."

She laughed. "You're telling me you've been chasing that hunk of man all this time and you didn't think to tell me? Get out! Is he gay?"

"He didn't give you any glances, did he?"

"Get out of town!" Audrey laughed. She held up her hands and waved Steve over. Shit. I could certainly start to hate those fucking fox whiskers. As Steve came over I buried my face in my beer, hoping like hell he wouldn't see me blushing. But Audrey was all smiles, all not-Audrey, patting the chair beside her. "Take a seat, hon!" she said to him, and it was as if she were the Pope Himself. Steve sat down, blue eyes trained on Audrey, like some little puppy dog waiting for his treat.

"I was just about to get your order. I do have other tables—"

"Nonsense. You're just fine." She wrapped her hands around his. I tried my best not to feel jealous. "Now, mind if I ask you a question or two? It's about my friend Lance here."

"Oh, yes. Cute boy you got there." He chuckled and blushed. Blushed! I couldn't believe it!

"Lance isn't mine, silly. He's single." She leaned in close, and in doing so flashed me a look at her tail. Showoff. "See, he's just not my type, if you get my meaning."

Steve's eyes jumped.

"Well, like I was saying. Lance is a bit nervous in public. Sort of new to batting for the rainbow team, y'know? I was wondering if you knew any cute singles around: calm, cute, sophisticated, the like."

"I know one," Steve said. He looked at me and gave me a wink that'd melted anyone – gay or straight. Then he spoke directly to me: "All you had to do was ask, dear. I always thought you were cute."

I chuckled and looked away. "Stoppit!"

Steve pulled a card from his back pocket. He could have left it on the table, sure, but he took my hand and put the card right there, palm-to-palm, the touch warm.

"Call me tonight, hon. I get off at about five."

My tongue caught in my throat. "S-sure," I managed, and Audrey bit her tongue on a chuckle.

Steve laughed. "And one more thing, hon."

"What?"

"The rubber-band trick never works." Steve reached down, pulled back on my band, and snapped it against my wrist. I would have pulled away, but the slick bastard took my hand in his and gave it this lovely little peck, like a gentleman courting some goddamn Victorian lady. "See you tonight?"

"Tonight," I echoed. That's all I could remember from the meal; everything else blurred into some mish-mash of beer, nachos, and some dessert Audrey put on my tab. For me there was Steve: friendly smile, baby-blue eyes, butt that wouldn't quit.

By the time Audrey and I left I had broken my rubber band clean in two.