CHAPTER FORTY-SIX Cole

After five minutes of nonstop yakking about life with Chad, Marla had had enough and cut me off. "Listen to you, Cole," she interrupted. "Take a breath and let me give you my first impressions."

"Sorry," I muttered. "Too much this early in the day? If it helps, it's miserable out. Loads of clouds and the ocean is a roiling soup of grayness," I added.

She giggled at my weather report before sighing. "I love you, silly butt. You know that? All I was going to say was that you sound like an entirely different man this past month."

"I feel like one," I admitted. "Almost like a lead blanket of misery was lifted off of me."

"Well, some kinda shit has lifted, or disappeared, I'm not sure which, but you sound like the man I met years ago," she stated. "It's frickin' uncanny listening to you now. You reminded me of something."

"Hang on a sec," I said.

I noticed the Wall Street Journal getting soaked on the front patio through the kitchen window near where I was refilling my coffee, so I quickly ran out to grab it, nearly slipping on my ass in my flip-flops. "God! The weather is awful here," I said, slamming the front door shut. "How's New York, sweetie?"

"Well," she began. "Funny you asked."

"What?" I cautiously asked. I recognized a gossip's tone when they had dirt to serve.

"What I was just saying. You know, the part about uncanny," she reminded. I grunted a noise to indicate I was still there. There, but wary of her pissing on my already rainy day. "So, remember every year when you, me, and Jack went to that outrageous gallery that shows the darkest and sickest art exhibits?"

"How could I forget that shit show?" I stated. "And I do mean shit show, considering one year that was the literal theme."

"Exactly!" she gasped, snorting one of her famous laughs. "Anyhoo, you and Jack were always the fucking funniest at those types of events, and of course, I'd attempt to follow along and then I'd be the one to get in trouble. Remember?"

"Yep. Sure do."

"Listening to you lately reminds me of the you back then, Cole. You were so goddamned alive then. Jack brought that shit out of you."

"He certainly did," I agreed. "We had the most fun, didn't we? Thank you for bringing that memory up. I miss him, Marla."

"You do realize that Chad is having the same effect on you?" she asked. "You see it, right?"

I ran my fingers through my hair, damp from being outside for a moment, tossing the wet paper on the counter. She was right about Chad. Everything seemed better, brighter.

"Of course, I see it," I stated. "I'd forgotten what happy felt like, but why the gallery analogy, Marla? What made you think of me and Jack's silliness from five years ago?"

"Do you also remember how Alan would never go with the three of us?"

"Uh-huh," I reluctantly replied. "And?" She was quiet. "What happened, Marla?"

"Now remember, before I tell you about this, you are in a great place now, Cole."

"For fuck's sake. Spill it!"

I sat at the kitchen island and flipped the soaked paper over. It was a total loss. I held my breath for either a story about one of her drunken nights or some bad omen from a person she'd ran into.

"Okay, so, you remember Anja, right? That gorgeous Danish chick, former model, friend of mine? Well, she dragged me to the same studio." Marla took a deep breath while I tried to follow along on one of her crazy story tangents. "And by the way, this month's exhibit was called cannibalism," she added, producing a gagging sound.

"Oh, my God. Seriously? That had to be gross."

"So, we're there, Anja and me, and we're having a few drinks, trying to keep dinner down after seeing a few of the outrageous still photos. That shit was real, by the way. Like, Oh my fucking God."

"And then?" I asked, urging her to a conclusion as fast as possible. Was I going to like this story? Was it one of her ridiculous, yet wonderful, New York City nights tales?

"You sitting down, kiddo?" she asked.

"Fuck off, Marla! What?"

Her voice lowered, similar to an actor on Broadway before the big reveal. "Alan and Tad were there. And Tad was three sheets to the wind by the time Anja and I arrived."

I hadn't heard Alan's name in months. Marla had mentioned several weeks ago that she'd heard through the grapevine that Alan was miserable in his marriage to his boss, but that was what being gay in New York was like; everyone was miserable in their marriages after six months.

I wasn't sure how I felt about listening to the story she was about to tell. The depressing feelings that usually accompanied any news about my ex weren't there today, yet I didn't wish ill will on Alan, or to rediscover those discouraging emotions.

"How bad?" I asked, immediately questioning the wisdom of asking.

"Tad was stupid drunk. Slurring and hanging all over some other guy while Alan bore witness to the entire debacle," she said. "I hate to admit this, Cole, but I almost felt bad for Alan, and you know how pissed I am at him."

"Jesus," I muttered. "Poor Alan. That couldn't have been pretty to witness."

"See?" she pointed out. "Oh my God! Listen to you. Six months ago you would've delighted in this gossip, but now you sincerely feel bad for him. You've done it, baby. You're over him."

"Maybe, but God, Marla. How awful for him," I stated. "Did Alan see you?"

Her tone became hushed. "We spoke, Cole. That's the part I wanted to tell you," she whispered. "I'm reluctant to, but I also feel I should warn you, honey."

I drew in a quick breath and held it. My stomach churned its warning. As it turned out, I didn't want to hear her story. Even feeling better about my life, after nearly three years of being angry at Alan, I didn't want him to suffer now that I was healing.

"You want to ‘warn me?'" I asked suspiciously.

"Well, make you aware of something at least," she replied. "I tried to get away from him, Cole, but he was so desperate when he saw me, and he wouldn't stop complaining."

"Go ahead then."

"He wants you back," she stated. "Practically begged me to speak to you on his behalf. He had me cornered and I couldn't get away, Cole. I swear."

"Where was Tad the whole time you were cornered?" I asked, recalling that the gallery wasn't all that big to be discreet.

"He was basically dry-humping some twink who had a see-through, sparkly midriff top, with a pair of cut-off denim shorts. I fucking swear to you they looked like actors in one of those gross ‘70s porn flicks."

"Shit," I whispered. "Poor Alan," I added, honestly feeling sick to my stomach.

"He says he's going to find your new house, Cole," she reported, her tone becoming urgent again. "He asked me if your phone number changed and shit," she added. "He knows you're in Virginia Beach, too."

"Calm down, Marla. It'll all be fine," I said. "I'm a big boy."

"I'm worried he'll fuck up what you've managed to find, honey. I mean it. He's desperate that he screwed up with you. And…" she hesitated for a second. "It's terrible, Cole. He doesn't look good."

"Like sick?" I asked, concerned that he was actually ill with a disease.

"Too thin. Frazzled," she said. "Frazzled is a word, right? He just looks unkempt, and you know how Alan is about appearances."

I did know, having spent seven years with the man. "Let's just forget about you running into him. I'm sure he was embarrassed that you saw what you saw. I'm positive he won't bother you again knowing how he is about his reputation."

There was a moment of silence before Marla cleared her throat. "You wouldn't… well… you wouldn't take him back, would you?"

It took me less than a nanosecond to respond. "No. Of course not. Not even if I wasn't seeing Chad. I could never trust him again," I insisted.

"Okay," she said. "I thought you should know. You know, in case and all."

"He won't show up here, Marla. Alan has too much pride to admit he made a mistake."

"And you're still okay after the news?" she inquired. "Still Cheery? Happy? In love?"

I laughed out loud. "Who said anything about love, dear? You did not hear those words from my mouth."

"I don't need to hear the actual words," she argued. "Your voice says all I need to know."

"He told me he loved me last night," I announced.

"Oh God. Don't tell me you didn't respond, or that you stuck your foot in your fucking mouth."

Of course, Marla jumped directly to how I must have screwed it up. "I'd intimated earlier that I was falling in love with him," I confirmed. "That's the same, right?"

"Intimated?" she shrieked. "Oh, fuck, Cole! What nerd-ass dufus intimates that they're falling in love with someone?"

"In my defense, he did ask me if I'd landed, or something like that," I explained. "I took landing to mean, like stopped falling, landed, you know, fell in love. I did answer him in the affirmative; I had, in fact, landed."

"You dumb shit!" she exclaimed. "Affirmative? Intimated? You geek! You need to hang up and call or text him," she stated. "No, don't text! Call him. Yeah, call him right now."

"Calm down, Marla. Shit! You know I'm not good at this stuff, right?" I asked. "I effed up, didn't I?"

"No! You're gonna be fine. Do as I said as soon as we hang up," she advised. "And do not think about Alan and what he's up against. This is your time, Cole. Your time! Do you hear me?"

"Please don't worry, kiddo. I am secure in my progress where Alan is concerned. I promise."

"Love you, Cole. Now call him."

"Still coming down next weekend?" I inquired.

"What? Not show up and get to drool over boy wonder? Fat fucking chance of that."

"Love you," I whispered. "And I promise, I'm good. Really good, actually."

"Call him!"

"I will," I said.

"K bye."

I hung up and stared at my cold coffee and my dripping-wet Wall Street Journal. I could make decoupage from the paper it was so wet. I made a mental note to call the guy who delivered my paper as soon as I called Chad.

Walking across the rec room, I felt a calmness that I hadn't expected after news like I'd just received. I glanced out my windows at what had been a storm outside and saw it giving way to beautifully sunny skies.

I searched for Chad in my contacts and then placed the call.

Alan wouldn't show up here, would he?