I hadn’t had anyone in my bed to sleep for a year. It was presumptuous of Eddie to assume he was invited to spend the night. But I couldn’t object. I actually wanted someone in my bed, and Eddie would do. Before he drifted off to sleep, he spooned me and whispered, “I bet you get very kinky, don’t you?” That made me happier than it should have. I was still thinking about how I should answer him when he began to snore.
Eddie was clingy sleeper and kept me awake much of the night. Around two a.m. I got a little paranoid and wondered what he was doing. I probably shouldn’t have let Peter push me into this situation. Well, to be fair, I was a grown-up capable of making my own decisions. I chewed on that for a minute then went back to blaming Peter. It was just easier.
What if Eddie wanted another date? Would I be able to turn down another freebie? And when all is said and done, is there really such a thing as a freebie? I had no idea what the cost of this was going to be, I thought cynically. That was the problem with most relationships, when they began you never knew what they’d cost you. My relationship with Jeremy had cost me a small fortune. One time I guesstimated the number of times we’d had sex in seven years, then divided that by the amount of money Jeremy had cost me. The result was not pretty. I was beginning to think sex is a better idea when you negotiate the price up front.
The next morning, I tried to make as much noise as possible while getting ready. None of it seemed to have any effect on Eddie, who continued to sleep like some kind of inanimate object. I wasn’t sure what to do. I had to go to work, and wanted Eddie to leave. It didn’t seem a good idea to leave him alone all day in my house. But I also didn’t want to turn into some kind of paranoid, screaming freak who’d kick a sleeping guy out into the street. We’d had a good time, and he seemed a nice enough guy. I was probably just being paranoid.
I shook Eddie awake. “I have to go to work now. Can you lock the door on your way out?” He didn’t answer, so I prodded him again. “Okay?”
He mumbled something, turned over and went back to sleep.
Walking out of my house, I noticed how differently I felt from the first time I was with Eddie. Sure, I’d saved a hundred and sixty bucks, actually way more than that if I considered what Eddie might have charged me for staying over night, but still I’d been happier when I’d paid.
This was not no-strings-attached sex. There were likely to be strings. And I had no idea what those strings might be.
Chapter Four
Of course, leaving Eddie in my house was a terrible mistake. I knew it on my drive to work, I knew it during a staff meeting, and I knew it while eating a chocolate muffin at my desk around ten-thirty. Which was about the time I called and told Eddie I’d had a great time the night before, which was true, and asked, “Did you remember to lock the door on your way out?”
“Oh, I’m still here,” he said brightly. “We should order in and watch TV tonight.”
I thought it a disturbingly domestic thing to say after just two dates. Well, one professional massage and one date, to be more accurate.
“I probably need to work late,” I lied. “I don’t think I’ll be much fun tonight.”
“That’s all right. I will give you a back rub.” He giggled, meaning much more.
“No, really. I’m going to be a real grouch.”
“You don’t like me anymore?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Good, because I like you.”
Even though it was only the word “like”, it roughly followed the same rules as the other L word. Eddie had said he liked me, and I was supposed to tell Eddie I liked him, too. Instead, I said, “Thank you.” He didn’t reply, so I told him I was about to go into a meeting and I’d call him in a couple days.
“Call me this afternoon,” he said, and hung up before I could object. I realized I had no idea whether he’d be leaving my house or not.
The rumor about re-engineering was confirmed at the morning staff meeting. Afterward, Tiffany looked pale and frightened. Every time I walked by her cubicle, I wondered if she was about to run to the ladies room and puke. She sent me an email, which said, “I didn’t want to say anything, but my ex-husband has had his hours cut back by half. He’s two months late with his child support.”
I sifted through my Rolodex and made a couple of phone calls for her. Well, I tried to. I imagined people all over town were being inundated by calls generated from this studio looking for work. The minute they saw our exchange, they probably decided not to answer. I gave up, promising myself I’d make some calls when things calmed down. I dialed Peter. He’d at least answer my call.
“You left a hooker in your house,” Peter said, after quizzing me about my date. “And you think that was a good idea?”
“I wasn’t sure how to get rid of him,” I said honestly.
“’Get the fuck out’ always works for me.”
“I couldn’t do that.”
“He understands English, doesn’t he?”
“He speaks English very well.”
“You’re too nice, Matt. No wonder Jeremy took advantage of you for so long.” Ouch. That was the problem with good friends. Eventually they knew enough about you to say terrible things for your own good.
“Meet me at the gym after work,” I suggested.
“I’ve already been this week.” Peter’s approach to health was the bare minimum. He was blessed with good genes.
“Please,” I begged, while trying not to sound like I was begging.
“Is that your solution to the Eddie problem? You’re just not going home?”
It seemed like a good idea to me. “He’ll get bored and leave.”
“That’s not going to work,” Peter predicted. Then he gasped dramatically. “You want him to be there.”
“I don’t, believe me.”
“Yes, you do. You just can’t admit it.”
“Are you going to meet me at the gym or not?”
“Fine, I’ll meet you at the gym. Whatever.” He was about to hang up when I caught him and asked if there might be anything for Tiffany at Momentous Studios. “Well, no,” he said, “But I did hear of something that might suit you. A VP position.”
“Really?”
“Fax your resume over to Bobby Sharpe.” He gave me the number. “He’s family, and you’re just his type.”
“Oh. Is that a good idea?”
“Darling, what’s a little sexual harassment if you get to be a Vice President? The worst thing that will happen to you is that you’ll sue for oodles of money.” Obviously, Bobby Sharpe was not attractive. If he were, Peter would have suggested I sleep with him to get the job.
I had a lunch meeting with a hideous woman from the Home Entertainment division who spent the entire meal trying to get me to feel sorry for her and then seemed to resent it when I did. I got back to the office a little after two. I’d just sat down at my desk when my cell vibrated. It was Eddie.
“Do you have an extra key around here somewhere?” he asked.
“Oh, you know, I don’t,” I lied. There was a key under the potted jade plant next to the sliding glass door that led from the living room to the patio.
“I just thought, in case I get a client or something,” he explained. “But that’s okay. I’ll just take the day off.”
“I’d hate for you to lose money because of me. We can see each other another time.”
“It’s sweet that you worry about me. I thought you’d have more movies around. You know, because you work for the movies.”
“You want to watch a movie?”
“Yes, I’m tired of
Judge Judy
.”
I didn’t like the idea of this guy looking around my house for movies to watch. Of course, I also didn’t much like the image of him sitting on my sofa watching
Judge Judy
all day, either. “I thought, you know, when we talked before, I thought you might be leaving.”
“No, I do not have to,” he said, as though I’d just begged him to stay. “What time will you be home?”
“I don’t know,” I mumbled.
“Six? Six-thirty? If I had a key, I could go and buy some groceries. You do not have any food. I washed the dishes, though. In the bathroom sink. That’s a pain in the ass.”
“I think it would be better if you went home. We can see each other in a couple of days,” I said, though I was beginning to think I never wanted to see this guy again.
He laughed. “Don’t be a worry wart. So you’re in a bad mood. It will take me five minutes to change that… won’t it, Dirk?”
I started to make another objection, but he said, “See you at seven thirty.” And hung up on me. I wondered if he thought hanging up on a person was somehow flirtatious, because just a few minutes later he sent me a text that said, “CANT WAIT TO C U. HURRY HOME.”
I decided to ignore the situation, which really wasn’t a decision since I’d been ignoring the situation all day, and concentrate on updating my resume and writing a cover letter. Once I got both the way I wanted them, I had to print them out and then fax them. Printing and faxing were both a bit of a challenge. I suppose I could have made a PDF and then emailed, but the email might get caught in a spam filter. For a first approach, I thought it safer to fax. Plus, Peter had given me a fax number rather than an email, indicating that Bobby Sharpe preferred faxes. Maybe he was old school.
The problem was that the printer and the fax machine were out near Meribelle’s desk. I wasn’t sure if she was back from lunch. I couldn’t very well pop my head and peek without looking ridiculous, so I went ahead and pressed print, then left my office.
Just to make the situation worse, Charles stood at Meribelle’s cubicle telling her every thing he’d eaten the day before and how much exercise he’d done to get rid of the calories. The plastic surgery he had made him look like an animated character, a somewhat surprised animated character. I walked by and pulled my resume and cover letter out of the printer. I had Bobby’s fax number on a post-it. I quickly put in the number and slipped the pages into the fax machine.
I could tell I’d gotten Charles and Meribelle’s attention. Not a good thing. Mercifully, the pages went through quickly. I snatched them up and headed back to my office.
“What was that?” Charles asked.
“Work,” I snapped. “You should try it.”
The rest of the afternoon I spent behind a closed door working on a report Shelly wanted reconciling last year’s ultimates to actual sales figures. I finished around four-thirty and brought the report into Shelly, but she’d already left for the day. Apparently, announcing impending doom had worn her out. When I got back to my office, Tiffany was sitting in the guest chair.
“I can’t believe they’re doing this. It’s so arbitrary. A ten percent reduction in every department? There are five of us. What are they going to do? Fire half a person?”
I sat behind my desk and nodded. We’d really covered all of this at the morning’s meeting.
“It’s really going to hurt the way we do business, don’t you think?”
“Of course, but there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“What am I going to do if they fire me? I’ve got two kids. They’re going to college in a few years.” Or maybe they’re not, I thought.
“You’ll be fine. You’ll get a separation package that will hold you over until you find another job. In fact, if you get a job fast enough you could end up ahead of the game.”
“Have you heard any jobs yet?”
Other than for myself, no. None of the calls I’d made had called me back. I shook my head. “I’m still waiting on a couple of call backs.”
She looked like she might launch into another round of why-me, but then seemed to think better of it. Standing up, she said, “Thanks for everything you’ve done. I really appreciate it.” Then she went back to work.
I slipped out of the office at 5:29. To keep myself from feeling guilty, I tucked some work into my briefcase and promised myself I’d do it at home while I watched TV. Hopefully, alone.
I probably wouldn’t get home until seven-thirty or eight. Hopefully, Eddie would get the message and take off before I got there. I doubted it. I’d probably have to throw him out when I got home. That gave me a sinking feeling in my stomach. Partly because I didn’t like conflict, and partly because he’d threatened to seduce me the minute I walked in the door. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to resist.
Most of my friendship with Peter was conducted over the phone. He lived in Venice. I lived in Hollywood. The drive could take an hour, so we rarely visited each other’s homes. On top of that, he worked in Culver City. I worked Burbank. Another hour drive. So we never met for lunch, either. The only time I ever got to see my friend was at the gym or at his favorite West Hollywood bar, Wrath. So, the evening at the gym wouldn’t be a complete wash.
I got there a little after six. Having joined this particular gym nearly a decade ago, I should be able to tell you its name. But to be honest, they’ve changed ownership so many times I can’t tell you what the name is anymore. Holiday Fitness or something like that. Every year the company name on my renewal is every bit as much a surprise as the price.
The place is large and generally crowded, even though each of the three floors is in some state of disrepair and constant redecoration. An excessively tattooed attendant buried her nose in a copy of
The Great Gatsby
. I pulled out my card to have her run it through the scanner, but she waved me in. In the locker room, I changed into my workout clothes.
Gym attire is one of those areas where the accountant part of me and the gay part of me have a major smack down. My gym is full of guys who seem to rush home, shower, shave, over-groom and then put on a workout set chosen by a stylist. The accountant in me wants to buck the trend and wear a dingy old T-shirt with the studio logo on it and a decade old pair of shorts with the name of my alma mater peeling off one leg. Unfortunately, the accountant always loses.
That day I wore a pair of flimsy, red running shorts -- I wasn’t there to run, but they were cut high enough to make my thighs look good, a clinging bicycle shirt -- though I didn’t own any kind of bicycle, no less the kind that would merit such a shirt, and an expensive, trendy pair of training shoes. The accountant half approved of the sneakers. They were expensive, but not as expensive as foot problems. Even with insurance, the co-pays add up quickly.