Parts of the Whole — Part 3: What You Could Have

I never asked Audrey to come to the Exodus meeting, but Hope found a way there anyway. I was just about to sit down when she put her hand on mine, nonchalant, as if she'd walked in with me. "Jesus!" I yelled, and half the room stared at me. Then I dropped my voice to a whisper. "I thought you had work."

"I do. It's you." She patted my hand. "I told the group leader that I'm your girlfriend. Some lie, huh? Bet Steve will get a kick out of it."

I smacked her hand. It was quiet in the room – too quiet to have this kind of conversation. Around me were effeminate men trying their best to look tough: scraggly beards, flannel shirts, tattoos of pin-up women – fifties style – revving up a motorcycle. They sat on old folding chairs in the Kingdom Hall basement and tried their best to look like they were happy to be there.

That's right: Kingdom Hall. One of the largest in the Midwest, even. The thing was a pimple on the face of 65, a huge, plain, formed concrete hall that bumped elbows with the highway so close that people in the basement could hear and feel every semi-truck thundering over the overpass. The group was some joint-faith initiative – one of those four-letter acronyms that ended with X-Gay, as if people never learned to spell – and this was the only place people could agree to descend upon. The only other places downtown even remotely worth considering were the Masonic temple – dream on – or the Anglican church smack in the middle of downtown, and that was just right out.

Which left me making the walk of shame up to Kingdom Hall twice a month, enduring Watchtowers and WBC anti-fag propaganda all the while, to rub elbows with the sorriest men trying to eke the sorriest living from their sordid little lies. They even threw us into the dingy old basement, amidst rusted pipes that rattled whenever a toilet so much as thought about flushing. Joy.

Audrey picked up my hand in hers and let it fall onto my lap. "So, I have a question. And please pardon if it sounds direct – kitsune can be that way."

"I noticed."

"So, you've been dragged into this whole X-Gay thing. Did you ever think to, I don't know, ask Him directly?"

I shrugged. "My mom follows the Good Book."

"Which was written by humans, translated, and retranslated. Tell you what; I'll put a contract for a couple of million dollars through BabelFish a couple of dozen times. Then you can sign it. Sound like a plan?"

"Not here, Audrey." I looked around and tried my best not to sweat.

"Hope. Whatever. Just not here."

"You know, sometimes God works one-on-one. One spirit sent to save one other spirit. Who knows? Maybe this is your lucky day."

"Right." I choked on a laugh.

"Someone's gotta tell you that you're crazy," she continued. "You're still listening to your mother and you're what, twenty-five? Twenty-six next month?"

"Yeah."

"And you're still a mama's boy." she laughed. "Come on. Doesn't take a kitsune to figure that one out. Lance, if you're so concerned about church and 'faith,' just close your eyes and talk to Him. He's a reasonable Dude."

"Whatever."

Audrey shook her head. "Don't make me do this."

I shrugged. "As if I can stop you."

It started innocently enough. Everyone tried to get into the manly spirit with a good ol' pissing contest: who was the X-est of the X-Gays? One old Bear, clean-shaven for the occasion, showed a picture of his new girlfriend. Emphasis on the girl – best not to cross a Bear trying to be a Bob for some dame – and the crowd applauded. One pixie boy came forward to show his new beard – they applauded.

One stand-up guy admitted that he backslid that day. (No, he literally backslid, if you get my drift.) Support came from everywhere. Apparently being heterosexual just wasn't as natural as the pamphlet said it was. Nothing like struggling against yourself to be yourself, I always said, but then again I was in no place to talk. Hard to get critical when you attend the same meetings and play the same games, right?

I thought about Steve as the meeting settled down. Audrey took notice right away. "Oh, come now. This is about beating your addiction, not feeding it." She patted my hand. "Besides, you'll get to feed later. Trust me. He's totally hot for you. And the package in those jeans... Mmm!"

"Audrey!"

"That's Hope talking, dear" she pointed to the door. "Now keep your yap shut: the MC's making his way into the room."

Horace Wilkins was a flimsy man, white shirt and thin, black tie. When he walked his hands were always full: Bible tucked under one arm, Watchtowers in his free hand, pens and prayer cards tucked into his shirt pocket behind a little plastic protector. But here he was not a Witness, nor was he a church-going man. He was an X-Gay, just like the rest of us. Our model, if you will. He spoke with a reedy voice, heavy on the lisp; if it weren't for the ring on his finger I'd have pegged him almost immediately as one of us – rather, one of what we used to be, I guess. So goddamn confusing.

He began with a quick prayer. Everyone bowed their heads and pretended to be serious. "Good evening, gentlemen. And lady – I see that Lance has made progress, yes?"

I nodded. Audrey just chuckled a girly little chuckle and squeezed my arm tight. Everyone applauded, but I knew deep down that this wasn't Audrey's work. The laugh was too jovial, the act too exuberant: something was up. And, sure enough, as Audrey guided my hands over her head, I could feel two nubs of fox-ears under my fingers.

Horace took a seat at the head of the group. He put his Bible neatly into his lap, the Watchtowers in a pile conveniently within reach of any member of the circle. "In any case, welcome back, friends, and bravo for your courage. Facing the homosexual problem is never easy."

Nods across the board. Audrey cracked a smile and laughed a bit.

"But we have the choice, friends. We can choose to live normal, healthy, heterosexual lives. We can be fathers, husbands, breadwinners. And we can do it together."

Now Audrey was just outright laughing. Everyone stopped to stare. She took her time to stop her laughter, letting it trail into giggles and little fits. Then, as if it were this simple: "You're fighting as if you couldn't be healthy before. What gives?"

Horace stared daggers through me. I just shied away. "If you must ask," Horace said, his tone milky and soft like a limp block of tofu, "we all have the choice to be heterosexual. Homosexuality is a sin, and is a behavior that leads to many health risks. So we're choosing the better path."

"Choice, right." She laughed. I could feel her tail wriggling against the hem of her jeans – as if things couldn't be crazy enough. "Wait. Horace, right? Now I remember you! Hard to see it through the horned-rim glasses and Jehovah Jacket, but yeah. Definitely there."

People were whispering. Horace cleared his throat and rearranged his tie. "I beg your pardon?"

"Yeah! Now I definitely see it. I remember your face! Talbott Street, right? That's your favorite place. Two Crowns, a little chit-chat, and you're up in the VIP lounge swapping spit with that drag queen. What's her name, Donna?"

"That's not important," he said. Sweat burst onto his brow.

"I mean, it's close and all that. But she's a man, honey. Not planning on the surgery, not planning on full-time, nada."

He looked to the ground. "I knew that going in," he said, softly, as if under duress.

"That's a case of 'close, but no cigar' if I ever heard one. So what's the solution, Horace? I don't see your rubber band. Where's your rubber band?" I hid my face as best I could. Horace wiped his brow and tried to look dignified, but all eyes continued to rest on him.

"I had a moment of weakness," he protested.

Audrey laughed. "Right. I bleed five days a month and you don't see me complaining. You're in there every Saturday. Vivian even knows you by first name – the owner, you know."

Horace stood up. He was shaky but he stood anyway. "I think we should table this meeting," he said. "It's just not a good day."

"Never a good day to hate yourself," Audrey offered. Then, to the rest of the group: "By the by, specials at Talbott tonight are well drinks and martinis. Knock 'em dead, boys."

We didn't stay any longer. Mind you, Audrey would have been happy to tear Horace a new asshole for the rest of the night, but before she could really get going I grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out of Kingdom Hall. Everyone waved goodbye and gave their well-wishings. "Hope to see you soon!" they said to Audrey, and she blew kisses in return.

By the time we were on the street she was all ears-and-tail again, and her nose ended in a small, moist, black dot. "Wasn't that fun?" she said. She did a quick twirl on the sidewalk and her tail wrapped around her knees like some feather boa. "Beats the hell out of self-loathing, I say. What the hell was with him, anyway? Watchtowers and Bibles. Give me a break!"

"You could have at least spared his dignity," I snapped. I wanted to be mad at Audrey. I really did. But she said more in three minutes than I had managed to say in ten months of group "therapy" sessions. Frankly, I agreed with her. But still....

"That was rude as hell."

"Rude of them to call you a sinner for being yourself." She shrugged. "Turnabout's fair play, I say. Pass me your phone."

I did. Not that I could say no to Audrey when she was like this – something about the fox features just put the fear of God right into me. "Let's get some real healing," she said. As the phone rang her face took shape, two triangles on top of a teardrop muzzle. As the phone rang for Steve she let out a little yerfing cackle that reminded me of coyotes in cool summer nights. I should have been concerned. Really, I should have been terrified. But something about Audrey's touch, her command of the situation, her gentle eyes... well, it all felt right.

• - -

We met Steve at The Metro before I took him home. It was Audrey's idea, really. She didn't even tell me Steve was going to be there until we walked in the door, even though she kept her nose buried in her cell phone the entire way, tacking out text messages as easily as breathing. But there we were, basking in the bluish glow of The Metro's genteel bar, super-gay house music softly filling the room, and Steve was right there, smiling, wearing an impeccable button-up shirt and copper-washed jeans.

My God, was he ever attractive.

Steve wasted no time in waving us over. He gave us both hugs and pecks on the cheeks – a real European type, you know – and invited us to a smaller booth. As he did so I found myself lost in his eyes: gorgeous things, soft and inviting. I would have felt bad if Steve wasn't busy doing the same.

This was wrong. I knew this from the start but Audrey kept right on pushing, smiling, giggling as we made awkward passes at one another, as our hands touched, as our compliments caught traction.

"I'm trying not to be gay anymore," I said at last. It came out after about a half-dozen beers or so – I can't remember. I just know that we were having a great time until suddenly I remembered that I was supposed to feel guilty. It hit Audrey like a truck and Steve didn't exactly know what to do with it either. "I'm sorry," I offered.

But suddenly Steve was all smiles. "Nah. It's one of those phases, hon. We all go through it. Believe me."

And just like that we were taking him back to my place. On the way we kept singing and asking fun questions: birthdays, favorite superheroes, perfect dates. Audrey followed closely behind us, giving us room while simultaneously keeping me in check. That's what it felt like: being kept in check. Put on a leash and asked to act.

Yet I didn't mind it at all.

Steve asked a few questions of Audrey, of course. (Who wouldn't? It's rude to ignore your guests while you're flirting, after all.) But Audrey kept pawning off every question, waffling from every request. "I'm just Lance's roommate," she would say over and over again. "That's all you need to know. I'm sure you'd rather talk with Lance anyway."

And we did exactly that all the way home. Sure, it was more kissing and hugging than it was talking, but who was keeping score anymore? At home we collapsed onto the couch while Audrey poured wine. My hands explored the angles of his lovely body. His head rested on my chest. When he spoke I could feel it vibrating throughout my body.

Then the phone rang. Mom. How could I not answer? "Pardon me," I said to Steve, and he sat up momentarily while I pulled the phone out of my pocket. Once it was out he collapsed back down on me just so; his new position left me blushing a bit.

Mom didn't even wait for my answer. "How was therapy?" she asked.

"It was...." I paused for a moment to give Steve a playful little slap. "It was therapy, Mom. Nothing big."

"I heard otherwise," she replied. There was ice in her voice. "Are you taking this seriously?"

"Of course!" I said.

Steve played with my fly. "Yep. Certainly serious, right?" I breathed deep and tried to ignore his ministrations. Audrey stepped in to ask who was calling, but thankfully Steve was thoughtful enough to throw a blanket over his work.

"Mom?" Audrey mouthed at me, and I nodded.

"I need to know who you're bringing to the wedding," she said. "Now. Please tell me you found someone, Lance."

I looked to Audrey and put a hand over the receiver. "Help me out," I asked her.

"Don't push this," she replied. I could see the whiskers forming on her cheeks.

"Please. I need this."

Audrey's face was cold. "I'm warning you."

I felt a breeze around my fly and let out a yelp. Audrey just chuckled.

I went back to Mom. "Of course I found someone. Remember Audrey? Yeah. She'll be happy to join me. We'll go as a couple."

That wasn't enough. "Are you a couple?"

"No, but she's helping me. I swear!"

"Not helping enough, from what I've heard." There was a pregnant pause. "I have friends in the area, you know."

Audrey let out a yell and tore at her hair. "You're fucking shitting me." Steve kept working on me. I kept squirming, trying my best to keep him away, but then he found the right spot.

I let out a yelp of a moan. Steve growled.

"That's a man's voice," Mom said. Her voice could have jumped through the phone, it was so angry.

"It's not!" I said.

"Lance, you better not be doing what I think you're doing."

"I'm not! Audrey... well, Audrey has a friend over. Right, Audrey?"

But that was the last straw for her. She let out an ear-piercing screech and the room flashed bright yellow. Her clothing melted away and made room for fur. Her face pointed into a muzzle, and her eyes glowed hot with anger. By the time Steve pulled himself from his work she was completely over: ears, tail, fur, muzzle. A fox by any other name, and Hope was far from jovial at that point.

Her words shook my heart. "You want a buffer and a cover? Fine. Find it somewhere else. How about you take Steve to that wedding? It'd be a hell of a lot easier, I say."

"Who is Steve?" Mom asked, but I hung up the phone. Steve damn near fell off the couch.

Her tails flicked as she marched over to me. Then, with gorgeous, petite, sharp ebony claws, she took my chin in her hand and pulled my nose to hers. "You just don't get it, do you? God sends a gift horse down to your doorstep and you keep looking down its throat. I swear, you are the dumbest man I have ever met!

"I'm going out," she said suddenly, and then I was staring at her graceful tail. "Don't wait up on me."

She slammed the door.

It was at about this point that Steve found his vocal cords again. "Just so we're straight, your roommate just turned into a fox, correct?"

"Correct," I said.

"And you're not the least bit concerned that this has occurred." He looked up at me, then to the door, then to me again. He shook his head. "'Cause I may be drunk, but goddamn. That's not normal."

"I know. She's kitsune."

"Kitsune?"

"Fox spirit. Trust me, you don't want to know much more. It only ends in trouble."

Steve laughed. "At least she loves you."

"Right."

"No. She loves you the right way. She knows who you are." Steve patted my stomach a few times. "Like my dad, for example, he never got over my lifestyle. I tried for a long time – made him proud, all that. I mean he loves me, sure, but he doesn't love me."

"What'd you do?"

"I moved. We can talk, so long as there's space between us."

I sighed. "That sounds crazy."

"Sounds like growing up, to me." He laughed. "But then again, you're the one living with a fox and slapping rubber bands to your wrist. Who's the crazy one?"

We laughed together for a while.

Steve sat up. "I understand if you want me to go home. It's a rough time for you...."

"What do you want out of your life?" I asked Steve. Sudden question, sure, but at that point I was pretty much ready to ask anything. He was still there, after all, even when my roommate turned into a fox in front of his eyes. That has to be good for something.

"Me?"

"Yeah."

He turned it over in his head for a moment. As he did so he traced lazy circles on the top of my foot. "I want to live, to love, and to stop feeling guilty."

"You too?"

He nodded. "You still go to the PFOX meetings?"

"Sometimes."

He laughed. "Give it time; you'll get over that. But yeah. I should probably go—"

"Nonsense," I told him. Then I patted the space he had been warming with his face. "You're here, and that's something to be happy for. Gotta work on that guilt, after all."

Our eyes met and then I just knew what had to happen next.