Love Is Proud Page 13

  I called Edgar after that and spilled everything about Trey. I hadn’t told him before, because I didn’t want it to seem like I was trashing my current boyfriend to an ex. That’s a bad look on anyone, and besides, I wanted Edgar and Trey to like each other. I just couldn’t hold it in anymore. I needed someone to cry to, and believe me, I fucking cried. Like a baby.

  Edgar listened to me talk for a good five minutes straight before gently interrupting with, “Did you think about the fact that you coming out might be like outing him, too? Everyone knows you guys are buddies, right? Didn’t you say one time that one of the guys joked around about you being his baseball wife, way before you came out?”

  “Yeah…” I said.

  “You know at least one or two of them are now reconsidering what that friendship might have been. They’re at least wondering. He probably thinks everyone is, and has already made up their mind about it. You know how that thought process works.”

  “Are you saying I shouldn’t have done it?”

  “No, Strike. You gotta do what’s right for you. I’m just saying it’s not some big mystery why he doesn’t want to have anything to do with you right now.”

  “I love him.”

  “No shit, bro. But the ball ain’t in your court anymore. All you get to do now is wait.”

  * * * *

  The day Trey came back from seeing his mom, we had a night game. I wasn’t pitching, so I sat in the dugout watching us lose badly. The starter had a lot of potential, but he was wild as shit and walked the bases full twice before they got him out of there. They took him out and the middle relief guy immediately gave up a grand slam. When we finally got out of that inning, Trey came over and sat next to me, eating sunflower seeds and not speaking.

  “How’s your mom?” I asked, still staring out at the field.

  “She’s fine. Got a new job a couple weeks ago and she’s already up on the office gossip. Told me all about it.”

  “She’s out of the hospital, then?”

  Trey sighed. “She wasn’t in the hospital, man. I went down there to talk to her. I figured if she was going to find out, it ought to be from me. My grandma, too. My brothers.”

  “How would they find out?”

  “If we’re seeing each other, people are going to make the connection, don’t you think?”

  I looked up at him in surprise. “Are we still seeing each other?”

  I could tell that the couple of guys sitting nearest to us were paying attention to our conversation now, even though they were pretending to mind their own business.

  “Unless you’re too mad at me for the way I acted this week.”

  “I thought you might be mad at me. Edgar said I didn’t consider you when I made my decision. He said you’d feel like I was outing you, which I guess makes sense. I didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you first.”

  “Okay, then. We’re both sorry.” He held out his fist to me, and I bumped it, laughing at him. “I guess that’s as good as I can get right now, huh?”

  Eck leaned over from his spot on the bench a few feet away. “Kiss cam is next inning. Just saying.”

  “Maybe the last game of the season,” Trey said, very quietly, with a slightly crazy grin on his face.

  “It’s on.”

  * * * *

  ABOUT KEELAN ELLIS

  Keelan Ellis is an East Coast girl, a progressive, a lover of music, a mother of two challenging girls, a loyal though sometimes thoughtless friend, a slacker, a dreamer, and a bad influence. She likes true crime podcasts, great television, and expensive craft cocktails made by hipsters in silly vests. For more information, visit keelanellis.blogspot.com.

  Waiting for Stanley by Paul Alan Fahey

  Malcolm slid the cassette tape into the recorder. He couldn’t believe his luck earlier that day when he’d stumbled upon a twin set of original BBC radio programs from the 1940s. From the blurb on the box, critics hailed “The Adventures of Gerald, Rosemary, and Stanley” as a lively comedy-drama. “A classic in every sense of the word.”

  Announcer: The Adventures of Gerald, Rosemary, and Stanley by Philpot Ross. Starring Melanie Ames as Rosemary, Dennis Gifford as Gerald, and Chester Towne as Stanley.

  Rosemary: Gerry, what do you think—

  Gerald: What, dear?

  Rosemary: What do you think of Stanley?

  Gerald: He’s everything I’m not. Is that what you wanted to hear?

  Rosemary (sighs): Hmm. I think I fancy him.

  Gerald: Well this is rather abrupt. I thought we’d had an understanding for some time going.

  Rosemary: Yes, I s’pect you thought so.

  Gerald: I see. You’re having second thoughts.

  Rosemary: Thirds and fourths truth be told. Not that I don’t admire you, I truly do. Your life, well, it’s so controlled and organized. Preplanned. Everything in it, including me, and it all moves along so tidily without a bit of interruption.

  Gerald: There is that. What a lovely compliment. Thank you, my dear.

  Rosemary (distracted): What?

  Gerald: I just thanked you for saying—

  Rosemary: I wonder.

  Gerald: What do you wonder?

  Rosemary: I was thinking about Stanley. His life’s so messy and haphazard. You can count on him to take the opposite tack. You heard him the other day at Blanche’s tea. It was an excellent book discussion and most of the group thought Mrs. Danvers a real villain—

  Gerald: She was. Quite.

  Rosemary: Yes, but Stanley saw the good in her, remember? Said she must have had feelings. Poor thing. Losing her beloved employer and having to put up with a new mistress, such a dreary naïve little thing. That woman didn’t know beans about running a household the size of Manderley. Stanley feels things so deeply.

  Gerald: Feelings. (Harrumphs): That’s Stanley all right. Still, feelings are often irrelevant when compared with the objective world. The real. The concrete. The proven.

  Rosemary: Yes, I knew you’d say something of the sort.

  Gerald: Am I that predictable?

  Rosemary: Like the trains at Victoria. Even in wartime. They always ran on time. Why just the other day—

  Gerald: Rosie, as usual, you’re not remembering correctly. Trains never ran on time during the war. Can we please stay on the subject? That being your sudden disenchantment with our relationship and with me. What is it you see in Stanley, other than his messy mind?

  Rosemary: Let me think a moment.

  (Long pause)

  Rosemary: You never take risks. Stanley does. He wouldn’t hesitate to act on a moment’s notice. You would. Consequences be damned. He doesn’t take life seriously. He’s witty, smart, and spontaneous, and can be quite reckless when he sets his mind to it. He’s the life of every social gathering or haven’t you noticed?

  Gerald: All right. All right. You’ve made your point. Points.

  Rosemary: Yes, I dare say I have.

  Gerald: You forgot messy.

  Rosemary: Yes, life with Stanley would be very messy indeed. (Sighs contentedly): Just one long, wonderful messy adventure, full of excitement. A surprise a minute. Besides he’s great looking, don’t you think? Quite dashing the other day in that double-breasted suit, I thought. Simply couldn’t take my eyes off him.

  Gerald (sarcastic): I thought it was all about feelings between the two of you.

  Rosemary: It is. You’ve hit the nail. He’s the perfect companion and I’m going to fight for him with every ounce of my being.

  Malcolm heard the recorder click and stop. He got up to flip the tape to the other side. “God, if I could only find someone like that.” Messy like her Stanley.

  “You can, love.” Malcolm recognized the woman’s voice from the radio program.

  Now I’m hearing things.

  “You’re not, Malcolm. We’re right here, aren’t we, Gerald?”

  “Yes. I expect so. Yes, of course. We’re both here.”

  “And don’t you dar
e touch that recorder, Malcolm,” she said. “We’re not done with you yet.”

  Resigned and seemingly willing to play along with this nonsense, Malcolm headed straight for the bar and poured himself a double shot of Scotch. Everything’s better with booze. Then, glass in hand, he returned to his comfy chair.

  “Good for you. I always say a stiff one never hurt anyone.” Rosemary giggled.

  “My word, there’s life in the old girl yet.”

  “I was talking about the drink, Gerald.”

  “If you say so, dear.”

  Malcolm shifted his position in the chair then put his feet up on the coffee table. “All right. What’s your advice? How do I manage the impossible after all these years of waiting and hoping for a perfect mate to drop right in my lap?”

  “You just haven’t met your Stanley yet. Like I did.”

  Gerald chimed in. “Malcolm…may I call you, Malcolm?”

  Malcolm nodded.

  “Good. If I may say so, you need to make your own happiness. Not wait around for it.”

  “Very good advice, Gerald. I never would have thought you had it in you.”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  “You’re most welcome, love.”

  “Seems to me you two aren’t the best at doling out personal advice to the lovelorn.” Malcolm took a long sip of his Scotch. The ice clinked in his glass.

  “Darling, you have to listen to the rest of the tapes. It’s all in the script,” Rosemary said. “You’ll see how it’s done. We’re more than qualified to…how did you put it…dole out personal advice to the lovelorn.”

  “It all comes right in the end,” Gerald said. “You’ll see.”

  There was the sound of kissing in the background.

  “Gerald, did you just buss Rosemary on the cheek?” Malcolm couldn’t believe he was actually conversing with these imaginary characters on a bygone soap.

  “Sound effects can do wonders,” Gerald said.

  “Not to worry, Malcolm. Happy endings abound,” she said. “And yours is just around the corner. Why any day, any moment you’ll just run right into it. Like I did with Stanley…um I mean Gerald. You have to trust the writers. We always do. Don’t we, Gerald?”

  “Mmm. Yes. I pop right out of bed each morning and bathe quickly. Can’t wait to get to the studio and read the daily script—”

  “And it’s always a surprise,” Rosemary said, finishing Gerald’s bit of dialogue.

  Malcolm drained his glass, walked back to the bar, and poured another drink.

  A pause then two voices called out to him in unison, “Malcolm?”

  “I’m here and still listening.”

  “Good. First, you need to get out more,” Rosemary said. “Make yourself available to whatever might happen.”

  “Be more like Stanley?” Malcolm asked.

  “Right. We’ve been watching you for some time, dear, and you’re too much of a homebody. Why just the other day Gerald and I were talking and he suggested you take a walk in the park. Didn’t you, love? You never know what or who might be out there lurking…um…looking for—”

  “I live on a hot, dry mesa in the central part of California, Rosemary. Nothing but wind, sand, and sagebrush. It’s out in the sticks, really.”

  “Stick. Oh, thank you, darling Malcolm. That’s just the word I was thinking of earlier but couldn’t quite retrieve. Gerald, you’re such a stick.”

  “Thank you, dear. Can we please move on?”

  “Don’t mention it,” she said. “Glad to be of help.”

  “Hey. What about me?” Malcolm said. “I thought this was about my rehabilitation.”

  “Well, you won’t find your dream girl at one of those—what do you call them—yard sales you haunt most Saturday afternoons,” she said.

  “What the devil is a yard sale?” Gerald asked her.

  “People set out all sorts of things on their lawns or drives they no longer want or use and then hope someone will come along and buy them.”

  “Damned silly. Why don’t they just throw them out like we do?”

  “Good question. But back to our sad little Malcolm here.”

  “I’m not sad. And I’ve something to tell you. It’s not a her I’m after. It’s a him.”

  Silence.

  After a moment: “Glad you told us,” Rosemary said.

  “In my day—” Gerald began.

  “Shut up, Gerald. This isn’t your day. Far from it. So much has happened in the intervening years. Progress has been made and all for the good if you ask me. But not to worry, Malcolm, we’ll come up with something. Besides you’re a good-looking fellow if a bit gray around the edges. We just need a bit more time to—what do you call it these days—process…yes, process this new information.”

  “Like a couple of decades,” Gerald said.

  Sound of a face being slapped.

  “You needn’t result to corporal punishment, love. After all I do have—”

  “If you say feelings,” she said, “I’ll smack you again. Listen, Malcolm, get a good night’s rest and get back to us tomorrow evening.”

  “How?”

  “Just like tonight. Simply put on episode two—”

  “As I was just about to do,” Malcolm said, “before you started giving me relationship advice.”

  “Well, yes, there is that. Though I’m never quite sure how these programs were recorded. In any case, not to worry,” she said. “We’ll find you.”

  Malcolm couldn’t help but wonder about her Stanley and asked her.

  “Oh, it all came out as the writers planned.”

  “And my Stanley?”

  “I almost forgot,” she said. “There’s a letter for you on the hall table. You passed right by it earlier.”

  “You don’t miss much. Do you two watch my every move? When I’m in bed, in the bathroom?”

  “Talk to you again tomorrow. Bye, love.”

  “You just made my wife blush.”

  “Sorry,” Malcolm said.

  “Just go and open the damned letter, dear. I have a feeling—”

  “There she goes again. Feeling.”

  “Oh, Gerald, do shut up.”

  In the hallway, Malcolm tore open the envelope, and read the short note aloud:

  “Dear Malcolm Shaw,

  You have received one response to your personal ad.”

  What personal ad? I didn’t place…Malcolm shook his head and read on.

  “The respondent, Mr. Fowler, has given permission for us to share his phone number listed below.

  Wishing you the best…”

  Malcolm patted his pants’ pockets. Not there. But where?

  “Check the chair,” a female voice called out from the living room.

  Malcolm rushed back. “What chair?”

  “The one you were sitting in.” Gerald sighed and mumbled something about Malcolm not being too bright for a millennial.

  Malcolm ran his hand between the cushion and the chair, pulled out his cell, double checked the number on the note, and dialed. The phone rang several times, then an electronic voice picked up—short and sweet: “Please leave a brief message at the beep.”

  Beep.

  Malcolm’s mouth went dry. He hesitated, made a few false starts. Then, “This is Mmmal…you answered my ad. My name is Mal—”

  “Malcolm,” a cheery voice broke in. “I’ve been waiting for your call.”

  “You have?”

  “Yes, of course. I was hoping I’d hear from you.”

  Silence.

  “Malcolm? You still there?”

  “Yes. I’m here. Still.”

  “Great. My name’s—”

  “Fowler.”

  “No. Yes. Fowler’s my surname. My friends call me, Stan. I’ve been waiting to hear from you.”

  “Stanley?” Malcolm said.

  “Sure. That works, too.”

  Malcolm, immediately drawn to the voice at the other end, wanted to tell this man he’d waited a long
time, too. He smiled into the receiver and then laughed at something Stanley said. “Yes, I’d love to meet you. Tonight? Absolutely. I was just going to say the same. Can’t wait.”

  In the living room, Gerald cheerfully chastised his wife. “You always get the last word in, don’t you, Rosie?”

  “But I didn’t this time, did I? Malcolm had the last word. Words. He said he couldn’t wait to meet his Stanley.”

  “And that’s a good thing? As I remember your Stanley caused us…me a great deal of trouble.”

  “It’s a very good thing. Besides, everyone needs a Stanley now and then,” she purred softly. “If only to brighten up one’s life a bit. Shake it up a smidge.”

  “Or one’s marriage.”

  Two glasses clinked.

  “To Malcolm and his Stanley,” Gerald said.

  “I have a feeling—”

  “There’s that damnable word again, Rosie.”

  “Sorry, love. Force of habit. I think I know just how to fix my little problem.”

  “You do?”

  “Of course, dear. It’s really quite a simple solution. We’ll just have to hire new writers.”

  * * * *

  ABOUT PAUL ALAN FAHEY

  Paul Alan Fahey, author of the writer’s resource, The Short and Long of It, and the Lovers and Liars gay wartime romance series, is also edited the 2013 Rainbow Award-winning nonfiction anthology, The Other Man: 21 Writers Speak Candidly About Sex, Love, Infidelity, & Moving On. For more information, visit paulalanfahey.com.