 
## Tim on Broadway

### Season One, Episode 1

### By Rick Bettencourt

Published by Bettencourt Concepts at Smashwords

Copyright © 2014 Rick Bettencourt

All Rights Reserved.

www.rickbettencourt.wordpress.com

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Warning: Contains sexual content between consenting male adults.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Episode 1

There's More Where That Came From

About the Author

# Acknowledgements

Writing can be a very solitary endeavor, but thanks to the following people I never felt alone in the process:

Phil, my best friend, has been the reason why I write. Not only has he been my friend since we were in kindergarten, he has been an inspiration. Thank you, Phil, for all those long, phone calls about Tim's happenings. Our conversations were nearly as funny as the book.

Deb McGowan, at Beaten Track Publishing, gosh, what would I have done without you? How many times did you read the manuscript? I lost count. All the things you have done for me have not gone unnoticed. Hugs! Someday I'll get you to pronounce Javier correctly.

A special shout out to all my beta readers (Alex, Gywnn, Laura and Wart), for putting up with some really rough _rough_ drafts, while still letting me know your honest opinions.

Faith, from The Atwater Group, for proofing the final manuscript. Another knockout job. (Look two incomplete sentences.)

I'd also like to express gratitude to my parents, who are both, now, with us in spirit. I love you. Thanks for raising an okay kid.

# Episode 1
## America's Got Divas

I put down my doughnut, picked up my iced coffee and took a sip. The extra-extra cream and extra-extra sugar gave me a nice little rush. It wasn't quite as good as Starbucks' but being unemployed I had to make the best of my homebrewed pot.

I had my cell phone cradled in the crook of my shoulder, talking to my best friend Julia. "With my Kindle," I said, "I can read them without people staring at me on the subway."

"I still can't believe you like girly romance books," Julia said. I could hear her slurping her own coffee, probably an iced Double Mocha Grande, being that she was at our old Starbucks in Salem. "You're the only guy I know who has every Chippendale Publishing book ever released."

I didn't really but I didn't want to quibble over details. "Oh my God," I said, as a bit of powdered sugar sprayed from my mouth and landed on the blanket I had covered over me. I was getting ready to watch TV. "I almost forgot to tell you."

She slurped some more of her coffee. "What?"

"Guess who's doing a comeback concert?" I brushed the sugar dust off the blanket.

"Who, Cher?"

"No," I said, raising my voice.

"I don't know. You got me," she said, and from her muffled speech, I could tell she was eating, probably a slice of carrot cake or a blueberry scone. I know what Julia likes. When she eats desserts, she usually goes for something that has a vegetable in it or some antioxidant fruit, because, of course, they're healthier than my powdered doughnuts.

I pulled the blanket closer to me. "Carolyn Sohier," I said. "She's finally coming out of seclusion and doing a concert."

"Carolyn, who?" I heard the clinking of the fork against the plate. _Carrot cake, I bet._

"Carolyn Sohier― you know, the singer who was in _Witches of Salem_ , that movie we saw the night I slipped on the ice in Danvers? And she was also on Broadway in―"

"Oh, her. That movie was terrible." I could practically hear her nose wrinkle in disgust. Julia was brutally honest.

Well, I liked it," I said. "She's an amazing singer."

"She didn't even sing in that movie," she said, with her voice trailing off at the end.

"Well, it wasn't a musical. But she did sing the theme song. Remember, we saw her on last year's _America's Got Divas_. She was the guest judge."

"I suppose you'll want me to go with you," she said.

I clicked the remote control. "We'll see. Tickets are expensive. She's decided to come out of seclusion, out from her Greta Garbo cocoon. It's a one-night only performance up in Bar Harbor."

"Maine? Who the fuck gives a comeback performance in Maine? Bar Harbor, nonetheless. What, is she going to come out on stage riding a moose?" She laughed.

My neck was beginning to ache. I rubbed it. "I guess that's where she lives. It's a benefit of sorts."

"So are you going to take the train or bus your ass up here to see her?"

By _here_ Julia was referring to New England, where we had both grown up.

"You wanna go?" I asked.

"You mean will I go?" Julia wasn't a huge fan of divas like I was, but she knew I had no one else to go with and wouldn't travel alone.

"C'mon, you like her," I said. "You even said her rendition of that Barry Manilow song was better than his."

"Is that the song she sang when she shit herself on stage?"

"Whatever," I said and tossed the remote onto the seat cushion next to me. Julia was referring, of course, to Carolyn's fairly well-publicized stage fright. Carolyn had suffered a particularly bad spell several years back and, well, embarrassed herself on live television. It was pretty sad. Julia thought it was funny.

I turned as an ambulance's siren rang out from the street below, followed by a blare from its horn. I hated the sound of ambulances. I got up to shut the window as it took a turn down Charleston Place.

"Five floors up and it sounds like the cops are right next door," she said. "I don't know how you can stand living in New York City."

"It was an ambulance and I'm in Brooklyn."

"Whatever."

I looked at the wall clock, a gift I bought myself. It had logos from nearly all the big Broadway shows over the past two years. "Shit. It's almost time for _America's Got Divas_ and I haven't even set the DVR."

"Alright, I'll let you go. Besides, I should check the dryer." She was at our old Starbucks across from the Laundromat. "Oh and how are you going to come up with the money to buy tickets for this reclusive diva? Didn't you just get done telling me you've already spent this week's and next week's unemployment check?"

I didn't want to get into it. "Javier," I said. "This week, he's finally going to pay me the money he owes me."

"Oh, God. Not Javier." I knew her well enough to know that she was probably rolling her eyes as she said it.

"Shut up," I said, with no real force behind it. Julia could be such a bitch. She was always reminding me of the things I did wrong, which were plenty, and the things I should be doing to better myself, which, quite honestly, were spilling out of my inbox.

I didn't want to be reminded of the humiliating experience I had had with Javier, the bagger at the Good Barn, my former place of employment. In short, he got me fired. "He's getting money from his student loan," I said. "He is going to pay me back on Wednesday."

"We'll see about that. Didn't I tell you not to give him that money? Didn't I tell you you'd probably never see it again? But no," she said, holding onto the vowel a bit longer than necessary. "You still went off and gave it to him after giving him a BJ in the beer cooler behind Produce. He's going to ruin your wholesome, good-natured reputation."

I sighed heavily. I think she preferred me to be a virgin and felt my having a relationship would interfere with our friendship. Plus, I didn't want to rehash the beer cooler experience again.

We were silent for a while. I could hear her scraping the last of her carrot cake, or whatever it was, from her plate.

I was leaning against the windowsill with my back to the street. "The walk-in beer fridge," I said, "isn't really behind Produce. It's more or less behind the deli."

She laughed. She always marveled at my ability to avoid what was important and focus on the picayune. The conversation then went on to her describing the store layout to make sure she had it right in her mind. For she always had to be right.

I sat back down on the couch and Dixie, my cat, jumped on my lap. I clicked the remote over to channel 851 while Julia went on about how the cereal aisle had been where she had gotten hit on by some guy in black leather pants the last time she visited. She was always boasting about how big her boobs were and how they attracted men. They were really just fat. And I don't think men were all that attracted to them. But who am I to know?

I listened to her drone on and popped the rest of the doughnut into my mouth.

"Alright, I'll leave you be," she said but before she finished she spouted, "Oh, wait," which I flinched at. "There's a cute guy going into Chase's Laundry."

I pictured her at our old corner table, which looked out at the Laundromat. Julia was surely peeping out the window. "What's he look like?" I asked.

"Um, dark hair, I think. Tight jeans and a Red Sox cap." I could picture her wiggling in her chair like she used to when we played this game.

While we had waited for her clothes to dry, we used to sit across the way at Starbucks, drink coffee till we were bouncing off the wall, eat pastries and watch for cute guys doing their laundry. We'd fantasize about dating some, as if we, and our two-tons-of-fun, ever had a chance of scoring with them.

"What show would he take me to?" I asked.

"Um, maybe _Joseph_ ," she said. "Or perhaps _Godspell_ , something with a religious bent."

"Okay, not bad."

"But obviously you'd have to go to a Red Sox game with him first," she added.

"Uh, forget it," I said and threw my hand up. I wasn't really a sports guy. Though someone once told me I looked like Russell Adams, a pitcher for some Midwest baseball team― I can't remember which one. I had no idea who he was and had to look him up. I was shocked by the comparison; he was once a contender for _People_ magazine's Sexiest Man Alive. _Maybe that expression about a face only a mother could love wasn't true in my case_ , I thought as I paged through the magazine. _Nah._ There's no way I could ever be that good-looking. Except for having the same shaggy brown hair, high cheekbones, dimples, and similar green eyes, I didn't see much of a resemblance. I was five foot nine, about an inch or two shorter than Adams. And then the obvious: I was much heavier.

Julia and I laughed a bit more. I was always making her laugh. One of the reasons I think she liked me so much. We said our goodbyes and hung up.

I set the DVR to record. I didn't want to have to sit through the commercials.

_Julia, what a trip_. We go way back.

Julia and I grew up together in the same neighborhood. We have been friends since second grade, which was when her parents moved from Peabody to Salem.

We even went to college together: She was a year ahead of me but in her junior year did some business co-op thing so we wound up graduating the same year.

During college, while she worked at an ice-cream parlor, I had this part-time gig at an insurance agency in downtown Salem. The owner was a customer of my dad's. I helped manage some of the back office details. The hours were flexible and the extra money helped.

Julia has always been like a big, pain-in-the-ass sister to me. But I still love her.

After I graduated from Salem State with a degree in elementary education, I discovered I hated kids and definitely didn't want to be a teacher. I had been talked into majoring in education by my parents, who thought the stability of a pension would serve me well. "You're good at math. Teach it," they had suggested.

I got a job at the Witch Dungeon, coordinating field trips and was sometimes called in as a substitute teacher for the school department.

Both jobs sucked.

I was still living at home at the time but would sometimes spend the weekend with Julia. She had landed a good job in Boston and had her own apartment in downtown Salem, near the aforementioned Starbucks and Laundromat.

I have always loved theater. At least a couple of times a year, my mother and I would take a bus from Boston and go to New York to see the shows. These trips started when I was a kid and continued, until...

My mother died shortly after I graduated from college.

Ugh, more on that later.

About a year after my mother died, my dad put the house on the market. He wanted a condo in Peabody. It was then that I decided New York was where I'd rather be.

And it was the best decision of my life.

I think.

Since moving here, I've seen Willemijn Verkaik, the original Elphaba, in a limited engagement of _Wicked_ ; saw the premiere of _Follies_ with Bernadette Peters; and got an autographed copy of the playbill from all the cast members of _Sweet Home_ ― including Matthew Caulfield's.

Let me tell you, getting Matthew Caulfield's autograph was a major score. I have always had a big crush on him. I had won backstage tickets from a trivia contest with Broadway Kibitz, _the_ place to go for anything related to New York theater.

I was also a shareholder in the crowdsource-funded gay version of _Grease_. It cost me $2,000 to become a member but it was so worth it, even though the show didn't do well. It closed after the actor who played Russo― a.k.a. Rizzo in the straight production― had a tiff with the actor who played Sandy and broke his collarbone. Remember, this was the gay version, so Sandy was some skinny blond guy, the male equivalent of Olivia Newton-John.

And just recently I saw the Divine Miss M, Bette Midler, in _I'll Eat You Last_ , which was fantastic. She is one of my favorites. Talk about divas. Bette is also Carolyn Sohier's idol. Another reason I love Carolyn.

After grabbing myself a refresh of iced coffee, I got back under my favorite blanket, pulled it up to my chin and settled down for _AGD_ , _America's Got Divas_.

"She sucks," I said to the TV and threw the Freihofer's doughnut box at it. Vanessa, one of the final three, was mutilating "And I'm Tellin' You" from _Dreamgirls_.

## My Fair Crush

Javier Kevin Rodriguez.

It's kind of a strange name but it comes from being part Latino and part German. And, may I add, one hundred percent gorgeous. His father is from Venezuela, which is where he gets his dark hair and olive complexion. But his killer blue eyes come from his mother. Despite him being a bit of a punk, I find― I should say _found_ ― him irresistible.

My little crush on him began the day he came back, during spring break, to work at the Good Barn, which is his uncle's store.

I was the head cashier, and had been for about three months at that point. For some reason, our paths never crossed over Christmas break.

I should have known better, kept my distance and followed the company handbook. Though, to be perfectly honest, he was the one who was "repeatedly making sexually suggestive gestures," not me.

Ultimately, that summer, the off-duty-unwelcome-conduct-of-a-sexual-nature was determined to be my fault, and I was terminated.

Kipp, his uncle, and I worked out a deal. Neither of us wanted sexual harassment on our rosters. "Laid off," read the pink slip.

But at least I could collect.

Well, let me tell you. My conduct was not _unwelcome_. But be it as it may, I left so as not to suffer any further embarrassment to me, the Good Barn, or to Javier.

Despite what I told Julia, I didn't lend Javier money _after_ our "conduct of a sexual nature."

I lent it to him in order to have a "conduct of a sexual nature."

I'm embarrassed to even admit it. But I lent him money because he said if I did, he would let me blow him.

I feel like such a fool.

But a man who's seventy-five pounds overweight doesn't get hot-looking guys taking an interest in him very often. Okay, not often... how about ever?

I haven't told anyone I paid him to let me do... to let me do him. Even Dixie doesn't know. But after many insomniac nights, sometimes it's best to get things off your chest.

### ****

When Javier came back that summer, I was assigned to be his team lead.

Perhaps because he was favored by his uncle or because of his charm, he got away with murder. He was late nearly every day, goofed off in the stockroom, throwing around rolls of paper towels like they were footballs and was always hanging out with the guys in Receiving, even when he was supposed to be up front, helping me bag.

Sometimes I get nervous around beautiful people. I'm more comfortable with those that are flawed, like me and Julia. I don't know if it was that but I found it difficult to reprimand him. Then again, I find it hard to scold my cat.

He knew he was good-looking, too, and always dressed impeccably. He was dating some rich girl, named Sue, from Long Island but she was abroad for the summer. So apparently he felt liberated to fool around.

One time, after I was coming out of the stockroom, I caught him making out with Cheryl, one of my better cashiers. I told Kipp, but as always when it came to Javier's indiscretions and unruly behavior, his uncle looked the other way.

Javier's flirting with me didn't really start till the night a bunch of us went out for drinks at the Grip, a bar not too far from the store. Somehow he invited himself along, saying his fake ID would get him served.

Up until that point, any "conduct of a sexual nature" was just me fantasizing about him in the privacy of my own home. I had found him very alluring. Who wouldn't with a guy that cute?

I had talked about him to Julia. She was tired of hearing about me and my unattainable crushes: Matthew Caulfield; Joey, the football player from Salem State― I know I said I wasn't into sports, but I liked him; Santino Fontana from _Billy Elliott_ ; and Mark, the barista at the Salem Starbucks with the buns of steel. The list went on and on.

"Unattainable, unattainable," Julia would say to each one as I went through my fantasy boyfriend league. I could just picture her with her long, brown hair pulled back with those glass-balled bands she wears atop her head. They were more appropriate for a ten-year-old rather than a twenty-eight-year-old junior accountant.

I could imagine her pushing up her constantly drooping coke-bottle glasses to keep them from slipping down the bridge of her nose as she slurped on a Frappuccino.

With Julia, I didn't get into all the gory details regarding Javier. I just didn't want to hear her haranguing.

Anyway, that night at the pub it was pretty crowded.

I hadn't been there before. Its sports' decor wasn't really my thing.

A group of us crammed into a long booth that had been made into one by an overly joyous hostess who lifted a divider between two. We were situated at the back end of the bar. Javier and I sat next to each other. He was wedged between me, the partition and a guy from Receiving.

I hate having to sit at booths. I can barely fit in them and this one was particularly tight. Apparently fat people were not appreciated at the Grip. I looked around. I had to have been the biggest person there. I must've stuck out like a sore thumb.

I don't usually do workplace get-togethers but when I heard Javier was going, I got as giddy as a seventh-grade schoolgirl― like I was going to an 'N Sync concert back in the day.

After an hour or so at the Grip and two or three pitchers of some Belgian beer, Javier announced to the table that he needed to "drain his vein."

Straight men can be so crass.

I took his broadcast as a cue to uncork myself from the table. While out, I figured I'd go too. After all, shoving myself back into the booth only to have to get back out upon his return was too much work. I suppose I could have slid down toward Hank from Receiving but he was kind of big and mean and I figured Javier wanted to chat with him.

The bathroom was tight: two urinals and an out-of-order stall.

As I had got there first, I was already aiming my stream at the picture of the little bee at the bottom of the urinal when Javier came in.

He came over and stood at the shorter urinal next to me, unzipped himself and started to pee. "So Tim, I hear you're gay."

Shocked by his boldness, I veered off course from my bee target and nearly pissed on the floor. "Oh?" I hadn't told anyone at work. "Who told you that?"

He spit into the urinal. "I don't know... just heard a rumor you were gay. Don't worry about it," he said. "No big deal. Just so you know, I'm fine with gay people."

"Oh... okay."

He cut a fart and laughed. "Sorry, man," he said. "Hey, my roomie is gay." His body shook; apparently he was shaking his private with vigor.

"They got 'em at RIT too, huh?" I said, referring to Rochester Institute of Technology.

He laughed and flushed, and I then met up with him at the sink.

I washed my hands while he looked at himself in the mirror. He wiped at an imaginary spot on the edge of his mouth. "From what I hear, gay guys give the best blowjobs," he said.

I inhaled some of my own spit and began to choke.

He looked at me in the mirror and smiled. His teeth were brilliant white. "I didn't mean to startle you." He then grabbed his crotch, adjusted his package in that all-too-straight way that guys sometimes do― though he seemed to hold himself a little bit longer than what I had been accustomed to seeing. I was shocked by his statement. _Is this a come-on?_ _Not that I would know._

He then pulled up his sagging pants. It could have been my imagination but it looked like he had a slab of kielbasa or something traveling down the right leg of his khakis. "Let's go get some more beer," he said and headed back out.

I stood there for a few seconds longer, and then washed my face and composed myself.

After a couple more pitchers of the Belgian stuff and a few shots, the night actually became fun. Suddenly I didn't care about my stomach resting on top of the table. No one else seemed to notice.

I made some pithy comment― which I can't remember― and Javier gave me a hug. "Ain't he the best?" he said. "Tim here is my bud." He hugged me tighter.

I felt the prickliness of his spiked hair brush against my cheek. He leaned his head onto my shoulder.

I turned my head toward his. The smell of his hair gel and the fresh soapy scent of spring on his face made me want to get even closer. _Oh, God._ If I had had another drink in me, I think I would have kissed him right then and there.

Now, to most normal people, a friendly hug and respectful acknowledgment wouldn't have meant much, but to me, someone who's practically a virgin (does buying a go-go boy in Vegas count?) it _was_ a big deal. I practically melted in his arms.

After that night, I knew I was in trouble. I was falling for Javier Kevin Rodriguez, the straight boy punk bagger on break from Rochester Institute of Technology.

But that was all a couple of months ago. I've grown since.

I think.

## Broadway Kibitz

At three in the morning, I awoke from a bad dream, a recurring one I often have about my mother's accident. I got out of bed and booted up my computer.

According to Carolyn Sohier's website, after taking some time off to "work on her craft," she was going to give a performance to raise money for some restoration project in Maine. The concert would be in downtown Bar Harbor on August 30th, about three weeks away.

"Oh, man, I want to go," I whined and took a sip of hot chocolate from my Betty Buckley mug.

According to the _Voice_ , Carolyn's performance was to be "a chance of a lifetime." Even Colby Troubadour, the New York socialite, was going. And Bette Midler said she wouldn't miss it if her life depended on it.

"Fuck." I stamped my foot. "I have to go." I turned to Dixie for advice. She didn't seem to care about my little temper tantrum and just lay there, on top of my bed, licking herself.

The article went on: "Take a cup of Bette Midler, a scoop of Barbra Streisand, add a smidge of Aretha Franklin and a couple tablespoons of Janis Joplin. Stir. Bake for a few decades and you have Carolyn Sohier. If you love powerhouse singers, Carolyn is a must-see!"

I scoured through the Internet, searching for more information on her. I hadn't looked in a while. There really wasn't all that much. Carolyn was a bit obscure.

I landed on an old article by Larry Gilligan, the _Post's_ theater critic, who was known for being merciless on female singers. In fact, he wrote a scathing review of Bernadette Peters' performance in _Follies_ : "She over-sang the whole show," he wrote. I later opined a nasty letter to the editor. They never published it.

Gilligan was there the night Carolyn took the house down with an impromptu performance at Radio City. It was a Barry Manilow concert but she stole the show and it made her a star.

I stumbled upon that review. "Mark my word: This is the most fascinating female singer to come along since Barbra Streisand first sang 'Happy Days Are Here Again.'"

"Dix, I have to see her," I said and took another sip of cocoa. "She hasn't done a live performance in over ten years."

Dixie is my sounding board. I got her from a shelter when I first moved to New York and ever since she's been pretty much my only friend here. Talk about a pathetic social life. But I loved her like no one else.

She jumped onto the desk and looked out the window. I liked the little patch of white under her chin and on the tips of her paws. It made her look like a work in progress; she had yet to be colored by the rest of her tortoise-shell hue. She mewed at my reflection in the window.

"I know, Dix." I scratched her head and she leaned into me. "I missed seeing Barbra last year at Barclays'. I'm not going to miss Carolyn Sohier." I banged my other hand on the desk. Dixie jumped down and headed for the living room. "Oh, sorry, girl."

Even though my credit card was maxed out― a result of an eBay spree last weekend― I logged on to Ticketmaster's site.

I was just peeking. I wasn't going to hit the buy button. Besides, I knew I would be declined. I just wanted to check out the seats.

Hopefully by Wednesday, when I got my money from Javier, I'd be able to transfer the money over to my Discover Card to get the limit down and have enough room to buy tickets.

Wednesday was only two days away. And Javier promised.

I clicked on search, just to test. "Sold out? What the fuck. I should have checked earlier."

### ****

The rest of the day was a wash. I stayed in and watched reruns of _AGD_. Julia and I chatted for only about fifteen minutes while she rode the train home from Boston: she made me retell her― for the umpteenth time― the story about finding my mother's knee-hi stuck inside the sleeve of my sweater during trigonometry class in high school. I watched it rain while Julia hung up to run to the train's bathroom. She was laughing so hard she thought she'd wet her pants. I don't know why she finds that story so funny. All I did was pull the nylon out from my arm, drop it nonchalantly to the floor and slowly slid it, with my foot, under Mrs. Whitemore's desk. My mother had run out of Bounce and everything stuck to me like Jesus to a cross.

A little while later, Javier texted me and said he'd meet me at my place Wednesday with the money. I wasn't sure what I was more excited about: seeing him or getting the money.

Later that night, after fantasizing about Javier and me going on a date to see Pilkin Theater's _Carousel_ , I did a little more Carolyn Sohier Internet research. Dressed in my robe and slippers, I clicked around but there was no new information on how I was going to get tickets to see her.

The next morning, I woke up early. I had an interview for a temporary data entry specialist job at the Llewellyn Insurance Group in Midtown.

I had been eight weeks on unemployment. It was getting old. The temp agency, FindaJob411, had this gig doing records reconciliation. It was only for a few months but at least it was more than what I was making sitting at home, watching episodes of _AGD_ and getting Uncle Sam's checks deposited into my bank account. Besides, if I said no to the possibility of work, it might ruin my unemployment eligibility.

"Why do I have to interview for a temp job?" I had asked Margie, my recruiter.

She drew in a breath― which I could hear over the phone― released it and said, "It's common for higher-paying assignments to at least meet with the client first."

"Oh," I said. "I can do that."

After that, she went on, in a more upbeat tone, about the benefits of the company, the potential for the job to become permanent, the perks― free doughnuts on Fridays!― and the convenience of the location, near the 57th Street stop.

_What part of New York City isn't convenient?_ I thought but bit my tongue. I hemmed and hawed: _I'd have to record_ Ellen _and_ Ricki Lake _. I would need to dress up._ I eventually acquiesced. I couldn't live on unemployment, and Mom's money was gone.

So the next morning, I took the subway to the 57th Street stop. "I think this is the station that was in the opening credits of _Rhoda_ ," I said to myself. I was a big fan of the ClassicTV channel.

As I was early, I stopped at Dunkin' Donuts and got myself a blueberry muffin and large extra-extra cream with five sugars. I would have gotten a chocolate cruller but I decided I could use the antioxidants. Julia was rubbing off on me.

I sat out front of the Alliance Building, which, in doing some research, I had learned was the former Ziegfeld Theater. _Another perk Margie should add to her list._

It was too early to go in, so I listened to the _Chicago_ soundtrack on my iPhone and licked blueberry bits from my fingers. I toggled over to my email.

Broadway Kibitz sent me the Daily Kibitz of Broadway. Sebastian Smolinski took the role of Finn in the upcoming Broadway adaptation of _Glee_. I also could "See _Annie_ for a song."

"Who writes this shit?"

And then, just as I was about to trash the email, I saw it. Down at the very bottom of the Kibitz:

Win Carolyn Sohier Tickets. See one of the industry's most reclusive performers in a rare performance set along the beautiful coast of Bar Harbor, Maine.

"No fucking way," I said and from the looks I got from a lady in heels sifting through her Louis Vutton and a man dressed in a blue-pinstriped suit talking into his phone, I must've said it pretty loud. You know how that happens when you're wearing earbuds.

As was wont for Broadway Kibitz contests― remember that was how I got to meet Matthew Caulfield― the rules were to Tweet and share on Facebook something clever about BK, and correctly answer the challenge questions regarding, in this case, Carolyn Sohier.

I read the questions.

What famous 1990s performer did Carolyn Sohier sing backup for?

Oh God, that's easy. She toured with Anita Baker in the early nineties.

What 1992 number-one song did Carolyn Sohier sing backup on? Hint: It got her a Grammy nomination but in the MTV award-winning video, she was replaced by a sleek and sexy fashion model who lip synched her vocals.

Duh, Ricky Ricks' "Move On."

What town was Carolyn Sohier's movie "Witches of Salem" filmed in?

As was typical for Broadway Kibitz, the last question was a bit tricky. Most people would answer Salem because that's where it was set and some of it had been filmed there. But Salem was not a town. _Hmm, I bet the kibitzers don't even know that._

I looked at the time. It was getting late, so I headed into the former Ziegfeld Theater for my _audition_.

I would submit my kibitz entry later.

### ****

The interview went great. I got the job.

Katie, my soon-to-be supervisor, was also a big Broadway fan. Plus she was also big, as in overweight. We hit it off well.

After wowing her with my knowledge of _West Side_ and in _How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying_ , two of her favorites, I scored the job. Who knew that knowing Charles Nelson Reilly starred in the original Broadway production of _How to Succeed_ , which I had a cast recording of, would help me get a job?

My cheekbones were hurting from smiling, as I walked down 6th toward the subway with my cell phone. "Yup, start tomorrow," I said to Julia.

"Congratulations," she said and then snickered, "It's about time." Julia had a strange way of expressing compliments.

"The only problem," I said, "is that I'm supposed to meet Javier tomorrow and they want me to start first thing."

"Oh, like Javier is ever going to come through."

I ran my fingers through my hair. "He texted me to confirm and everything." I ducked into the 57th Street stop. I felt just like Rhoda.

### ****

When I got home, I checked the mail― _bills_ ― and got into the elevator. My phone chimed with a new text and I read it. It was from Javier.

"Son of a..." I said.

"Some unwelcome news?" said the little, old African-American lady who lived on the floor below me.

"You could say that," I said.

The elevator opened and she got off. "Sorry state of affairs these days," she said. "The economy's a mess and lot a people in trouble."

Javier said he was suddenly short on the money. He had to buy new tires for his Jeep.

The elevator closed.

"Fuck!" I didn't know what I was mad at more: not getting the money, not seeing him, or Julia being right.

## Liza

The first few days at the job were boring yet exhausting at the same time. But who was I to complain? I was making decent money.

I was given five three-ring binders, each as dense as a Tolstoy novel, to familiarize myself with the project. These things were so large they had to give me a table in the breakroom just so I could spread them out to get through the material.

The company was into this Six Sigma process improvement thing. The bigwigs were keen on fixing what they referred to as defects. And apparently they had a lot of them.

The Six Sigma methodology, as it was touted, was supposed to help identify the problems and reduce variation in processes.

It was dry as toast.

Ultimately, they wanted their little worker bees to all do the same damn thing, all the same damn way. Because― as I was learning― variation led to failure.

I wasn't sure how all this played into me being a data entry specialist but I went along for the ride.

Aside from my theater knowledge, I think one of the other reasons Katie hired me was that I was good with statistics.

"Oh, lovely," she had said when I told her I ran projects at the insurance agency I used to work at when in college. She also liked that I got all As in math at Salem State and had even taught the staff how to write complex formulas in Excel.

But here I was alone in the breakroom on the twenty-sixty floor of a high-rise in midtown Manhattan with no windows. The room had become my own office in a way.

My stomach rumbled.

The snacks in the vending machine were calling me.

"Ugh. I need a break," I said and sat back. The chair squeaked against the floor.

Funny thing about their breakroom: no one used it. Yeah, every once in a while someone would pop in to get a pack of gum from the vending machine or a cup of coffee from the stale pot that some little old lady with glasses would make at 8:30 in the morning and never return to till the following day.

I learned that at Llewellyn Insurance Group no one ever took actual breaks.

I think they feared their jobs would be cut if they were seen relaxing for five minutes. So instead they hid behind their computers to read Facebook, or spent excessive time chatting to one another in whispered tones and jumped back to some work-related thing when anyone in a suit walked by.

At the Good Barn, not taking your break had been sacrilegious. If you worked a full-shift, you were required to take two fifteen-minute breaks and a half-hour lunch. In fact, a good part of my job was making sure people took them.

At Llewellyn, that didn't apply.

I didn't care. I took all my breaks. I couldn't read statistics for eight hours straight and retain any of it if I didn't.

So after jotting down a few more notes about the design phase of a Six Sigma project, I went over to the vending machine, put my five quarters in and pressed the button for some pretzels. They had a heart-healthy symbol next to them. I was trying to be good. I really just wanted a salt fix but the potato chip slot was empty.

I tore open the package, and popped a few in my mouth. The salty taste made me want a soda. So, I got a Coca-Cola from the other vending machine and sat back down.

There were no magazines to look at, like at the Good Barn, so I took out my iPhone and pulled up Facebook.

My wall's cover photo still had the picture of my mother, the one we had used in the obituary. "Someday I'll change that," I said. I just couldn't bring myself to do it.

I went over to the Broadway Kibitz page and read through some horrendous entries for the Carolyn Sohier ticket contest. I was feeling pretty confident that I could win. "They're going to love my entry when they read how passionate I am about Carolyn," I said. There was no one else in there so I didn't worry about talking to myself.

Passion had won me the _Sweet Home_ tickets. At least that's what the announcement said: "Tim B."― they never publish your full name― "throws passion to the wind and wins our _Sweet Home_ contest!"

I shook my head. "Throws passion to the wind?" I chuckled. "I don't know who their copywriter is but some of their writing is just downright awful."

I finished the pretzels and soda, and went back to process improvement tools and techniques for another couple of hours.

Finally, at 4:45, I decided to call it a day.

I knocked on Katie's _always-open_ door to have her sign my timesheet.

"Hi, Tim," she said, with a big grin on her face.

"Hello." I shuffled in, showed her my time slip and handed it to her. I looked out her window, which had a great view of 6th and, if you turned just so, you could see Central Park.

"You know," she said, while she scribbled her name, "I think you're doing a great job."

"Oh, thank you."

She ripped off the top copy of the time sheet, kept it and gave me the carbon. "I see you in that breakroom, tearing through those pages."

_Tearing? I wish._

She congratulated me again on a job well done.

"I appreciate that," I said. Her office was cluttered with stacks of paper. I looked over at a pile on her guest chair and another on top of her table. The stacks were color-coded with labels: A1, A2, A3, B1.

She must have seen me looking. "That's all Claims' crap. We're going to get you on that next week."

"What's the A1, A2 stuff mean?"

"Prioritization. I took a Franklin-Covey course last month to get organized," she said, taking a piece of paper from the top of her outbox. It had a little yellow sticky on it with my name and an A2.

I hoped A2 was a good thing.

She peeled the sticky off and handed me the paper. "For you."

"Oh?"

"I like to reward good work. I haven't had the time to give you much direction but I appreciate your perseverance."

I unfolded the paper. It was a ten-dollar online gift certificate to Broadway Kibitz.

"Plus, I just think you're a great guy."

"Oh, wow. Thanks," I said, looking at the paper. I hadn't so much as received a free Milky Way from the Good Barn. I folded it back up nicely and tucked it under my time slip.

She went on to tell me that in two weeks I was going to take part in a week-long intensive Lean Six Sigma Workshop. We were to come up with process improvement ideas to help Claims. "The week before Labor Day," she said, "there'll be a group of us, locked in a room. Full-attendance required― eight hours a day, for the whole week." She pointed at her stacks.

"Great, I'm looking forward to it," I lied.

I had been hoping to get that Friday off for the Carolyn Sohier concert. But this wasn't the time to ask. Besides, I didn't even have tickets, yet.

### ****

Another Mom dream woke me up at three a.m.

I went online and figured I would use my gift certificate. I bought a Carolyn Sohier CD and T-shirt, XXL. It was well over my $10 budget but I figured I deserved it. I was surprised that I could fit it on my AmEx.

I popped over to Facebook and started scrolling through some more of Broadway Kibitz's Carolyn Sohier contest entries.

"Wrong." I scrolled past an entry that claimed Carolyn Sohier was a native Hawaiian. "Hawaii. Really?"

After an hour of picking apart everyone's answers― especially the questions requiring participants to write a sentence or two, rather than pick a choice― I was growing more confident that my entry was the best.

"Great. Now watch me friggin' win the tickets. How am I going to get out of this process improvement shindig?"

I went back to sleep for a couple of hours, but then got up again, around six, to head over to Rockefeller Plaza.

I watched Liza Minnelli sing live for the weekend edition of the _Today_ show. After waiting for two hours, she only did two songs but it was worth it― despite having to stand the whole time. When I got back on the subway, my feet were killing me.

I took a seat closest to the wall. There was a faint scent of urine.

While the train chugged under Manhattan, I went through the photos on my phone. I got a couple of good close-ups of Liza. _God, she looks so much like Judy_ , I thought.

I flipped past the last Liza picture.

Next up was Dixie drinking from the faucet, Dixie sleeping on top of my computer, a picture of Carolyn Sohier I lifted off Facebook and finally one of Javier and me at the Grip.

I zoomed into the picture so I could see his face better when a text came in.

Javier: Hey Tim!

An exclamation point. Well.

Me: What?

I didn't want to come across as too excited.

Javier: Sorry but the mother day.

He was forever typing things wrong.

Me: Ok, Mom.

I could be so snarky.

Javier: Huh?

Me: Your autocorrect is playing games with you again.

The urine scent was stronger in the corner so I scooted down toward the door.

Javier: LOL

I put my earbuds in and listened to Barbra Streisand's "New York State of Mind" from her _Superman_ album.

The subway screeched down Houston and subsequently stopped at 2nd Ave.

My phone vibrated again and I looked down.

Javier: Got ur money

Not getting my hopes up.

Me: Really.

"This better not be a fucking joke," I mumbled.

Javier: UR place at 7 tonite!

My heart began to beat a little faster. The subway screeched around a bend on Essex.

Me: OK

## Money, Money, Money

Despite the rain, it was a hot August night.

I turned on the fan, stood in front of it and let the air blow through my T-shirt. My armpits were sticking together even though I had just got out of the shower.

The room suddenly smelled like Mitchum's sport scent.

The downstairs' bell rang. I knew it was Javier. Who else would have been buzzing me?

I buzzed him in and quickly ran down the hall to check myself in the bathroom mirror while he waited for the elevator.

"Oh, God. Forget it," I said. Regardless of the sorry state of affairs that I saw in the mirror, I combed my hair, again, and smiled to make sure the spaghetti dinner really was gone from my teeth. I then quickly brushed my teeth one more time. After all, Javier was a stickler for clean teeth and fresh breath. I gargled with mint Listerine.

There was a knock on the door.

I ran down the hall. I could feel the smile plastered across my face. Then, partway down, I stopped. I felt foolish. _He's straight._ I shook my head and wiped off the smile. After all, I wanted to appear nonchalant about his coming over.

I walked the rest of the way and slowly opened the door. "Oh, hey. Is it seven already?" It was actually 7:15 but I didn't want to seem like I had been waiting.

He was wearing his NY Yankees baseball cap, a blue windbreaker with orange stripes on the arms, gray sweatpants, and a pair of Nike sneakers.

He brushed the rain from his jacket before he came in. "Hey, Tim," he said. "Sorry I'm late."

The rain pelted against the living room's open window. I walked over to it. "This storm seemed to come out of nowhere," I said and shut the window.

"They've only been talking about it for three days," Javier said. "Don't you watch the weather?"

"I've been busy."

"Busy? With what?"

"Work. I started a new job." I thought about mentioning my quest for Carolyn Sohier tickets but changed my mind.

He took off his cap, pulled his windbreaker off― revealing a bit of his abs in the process― and then put his hat back on. "You mind?" he asked. He held up his wet coat. "I don't want to get your chairs wet."

I took it from him and brought it into the kitchen to hang on the back of one of the café set's metal chairs. "I'm part of this new program at work. It's called a Six Sigma Lean Workout. I've been studying, learning how to improve the processes at an insurance company in Midtown."

"Sounds thrilling," he said.

"Yeah, it really isn't." I was walking back into the area just outside the kitchen, which looked into the living room.

He plopped himself down on my couch. "Good for you landing a new job." He grabbed the remote control from the wicker basket, which I used to store it.

"Make yourself at home," I said. He had been to my place a few times, most notably when I lent him the money.

"Don't mind if I do," he said and put his feet up on the coffee table.

I rolled my eyes, went to the fridge, grabbed two beers, took off the caps and headed back into the living room.

_Jeopardy_ was on.

"You've never struck me as an Alex Trebek fan," I said and handed him a beer.

"What?" He apparently wasn't really watching it. "Oh, yeah. It turned on to this channel." He took the beer. "Thanks, man."

I sat down on the couch next to him. "So, what's up?"

He looked at me. _God, those damn blue eyes._ He put the beer down on the coffee table, and then reached down into the crotch of his sweatpants.

I gasped and put a hand to my mouth.

He pulled out a Ziploc bag filled with money.

I blinked. "Holy shit."

"It's all there. And then some." He threw the bag at me.

I picked it up. It was heavy. "Javier, this looks like more than a thousand dollars."

"It is."

I tilted my head to the side. "It is?"

"Don't ask where I got it." He took back his beer and guzzled.

"Okay," I said. "I won't but..."

We sat in silence for a little bit.

I opened the bag.

"There's four there. Four thousand," he said. He was watching the TV.

I shook my head slowly. "Four thousand."

"Take the money I owe you and hold onto the rest for me. You're the only person I can trust."

"Me?" I asked. "Javier, you didn't steal this, did you?"

His face tightened. "No." He took another sip of beer. "I told you, I got my student loan."

I threw the bag on to the coffee table. "So why are you giving me an extra three thousand dollars to hold for you?"

A bolt of lightning and a clap of thunder shook the apartment.

Javier grabbed my arm. "Holy shit," he said. "That was close."

Dixie flew out from under the oversized chair and into the bedroom, no doubt underneath the bed.

I looked down at where his hand had touched me. "Yeah, that was pretty damn close." I grabbed my beer from the table and tugged at my T-shirt. I wanted to make sure my fat wasn't bulging through the cotton. I didn't like tight-fitting clothes.

Javier chugged down the rest of his beer and followed up with a loud belch.

"Nice manners."

"Please, like you haven't heard it before," he said.

Another clap of thunder. The lights flickered.

I chugged back the rest of my beer, and I, too, burped― though not as loud.

"Nice," Javier said approvingly.

We laughed. I got up and went to the fridge for another couple of beers. We drank them while watching the rest of _Jeopardy_ and after that went onto another round of beers while we tracked the storm on the news.

The thunder and lightning kept coming. I swore with each bolt and clap, Javier seemed to move closer to me.

"So why are you leaving me with an extra three thousand dollars?" I asked. I looked at the Ziploc bag full of hundreds, fifties, and twenties. Neither of us had touched it since I placed it on the table.

Javier reached across the table. I thought for a second he was going to take back the money but instead he took the remote control and shut off the TV. He turned toward me and tucked his left leg under his right. He had taken his sneakers off a beer ago. "I'm gonna need some money for school. I go back next week, as you know."

"Yeah. Why not just―"

"Hold on, Timmy boy. I'm getting there." He kicked at my leg, jokingly, with his right foot.

"Sorry," I said.

"You see." He looked down. "I'm not all that great with money. If I take it with me, I'll piss through it in no time. It needs to last me all semester."

"Well, what about your―"

"My family?" he interrupted. "Yeah, right. If my mother knows I have this much money, it'll be up her nose in an afternoon. My dad?" He shook his head.

I wanted to hug him, to make him feel better, but instead took a sip of my beer.

Another burst of light and a clap of thunder filled the room.

"Holy shit!" Javier said, with a jerk.

Then the lights went out.

"Uh oh," I said.

The emergency backup came on, which only lit the hall and stairwell. I could see the light come in from underneath my front door. It was the only light in the room.

"I was afraid of that," I said and got up to get a candle.

Javier grabbed my hand as I tried to climb past him. "Where you going?" he asked.

"I'm going to get a candle."

"No. Not yet." He took in a deep breath and let it out. "Let's just sit here." He stretched his arms over the back of the couch. "I kind of like it like this. Listen."

I sat back down, purposely sitting closer to him.

We were silent. I felt a sense of warmth build in my stomach knowing that his arm was on top of the couch behind me.

The sound of the rain beat against the window.

"I like the sound of silence," he said. "And the dark of a storm."

I prayed that the lights would never come back on.

"Timmy?" Javier said. "I'm sorry I took so long to pay you back."

I could feel the warmth of his breath near my ear and the smell of minty toothpaste.

"It's been kinda hard this summer," he said and with the arm behind me, touched my shoulder with the tips of his fingers. "Thank you for the money. With my mom in detox, it's been difficult."

I sighed. "You were able to get her medical bills caught up?"

He scoffed. "Caught up, no. Getting the collection agency to stop calling for a bit, yes."

"You're a good son."

"You'll send me the money, right?"

While my eyes were supposedly looking at the lightning show going on over Brooklyn, my mind had us as boyfriends cuddling in the dark. "Of course, Javier. Of course."

"I can text you and have you transfer cash, when I need it, to the Western Union kiosk at school."

"Whatever you need, Javier. Whatever you need."

"You're a good man, Tim."

"Javier?"

"Yeah."

The sky lit up in the distance. I closed my eyes, tipped my head back and rested it against his forearm. "Would you ever wanna go see a Broadway show?"

"Huh?"

I didn't answer him right away. My mind was having too much fun imagining us arm and arm, walking down Broadway. "Never mind."

## The Betty Buckley Mug

The next morning I awoke with a start.

I turned around in my bed, half expecting to find Javier sleeping next to me. My brain was foggy from the night before. I remembered drinking too much, telling Javier I didn't want him driving and setting him up on the couch.

I got out of bed. I had on my Hello Kitty pajama bottoms and a Hanes white T-shirt, which was too tight for my liking. "How the hell did I get into these?" I said and threw on my robe.

Dixie meowed atop my computer. My alarm clock flashed a constant 12:00 a.m. "Oh, yeah, the lights went out."

I staggered out into the hallway, walked across to the bathroom where I peed and gargled, and then went into the living room.

Javier was still asleep on the couch. The sheet I had brought out from the linen closet covered him. His sweatpants, sneakers, and Yankees' cap were on the floor by the coffee table.

I know we didn't do anything... despite my wanting to, I thought.

Dixie curled around my leg.

I went to the kitchen, took out a can a Friskies from the fridge and scooped it into her dish. She jumped up and I shooed her back down. I hate it when people let their cats climb all over the counters. I put her dish on the floor and she started eating.

I wanted to turn on the TV. Perhaps I could catch up on _Ellen_ from the DVR but I didn't want to wake Javier. I put the water on for tea and read emails from my phone.

The kettle made a few clicking noises as it began to warm.

I leaned against the counter and tried not to look at Javier sleeping. I felt voyeuristic. Even sleeping he was beautiful.

Irresistible. _Why do I fall for the unattainable?_ I thought.

As Julia would say, "Because they're safe."

Javier moved and the sheet slid off.

"Oh my God," I whispered.

He was shirtless and his red Calvin Klein underwear was popped up like a camping tent on Central Park.

_You're staring._

I knew from experience― that night in the walk-in at the Good Barn― that that pup tent had a pole inside it that could double as a tree limb.

_Timothy!_

I felt guilty again and moved to the café table, which was at the other end of the galley, just as the teakettle began its piercing whistle. I shut it off. Its cry petered out as I lifted it from the burner.

I heard Javier stirring in the living room, a yawn and a blare of flatulence.

I shook my head. _Why are straight guys so blatant with their gas?_

I poured my tea, sat down in one of the metal chairs and pulled out the _Village Voice_ , which was stuffed under a basket of browning bananas and a couple of bruised apples.

I heard Javier walking toward the kitchen but kept my eyes on the paper. I didn't want to appear like I'd been waiting for him to get up.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," I replied without looking up. I was scanning an article about a new cabaret show at the Pinewood Playhouse.

"Tea smells good," he said.

I finally looked up.

He was still in his underwear, scratching at his crotch. The evidence of his morning wood, while having subsided, was somewhat evident in its sway.

I looked back down at the paper. "Would you like some?"

"You got any coffee?"

"Instant. I ran out of Starbucks."

"That's fine," he said and walked down the hall to use the bathroom.

I got up, took out the Folgers from the cupboard and in my Betty Buckley mug scooped in a tablespoon of coffee crystals. I poured the still-hot water from the kettle into the mug.

"Who's Betty fucking Buckley?" he asked after he came back and sat down across from me. I could tell he had used my Listerine. His breath smelled clean.

"Betty Buckley is only one of New York's finest Broadway actresses," I said and sipped my tea.

He took a sip of his coffee. "Not bad, for instant."

We sat in silence, drinking our caffeine. I closed the paper.

Dixie sniffed at his socks and he pushed her away with his foot.

"You still sure about the money?" I asked. I wanted to make sure it wasn't the beer talking and he really wanted me to hold on to the extra three thousand dollars. I felt honored. Besides, I have this thing for wanting to help hot bad boys. I think I picked it up from reading too many romance books.

He put Betty Buckley back down. "Yeah, yeah, I'm sure."

"What about Uncle Kipp?" I said. "He could keep it in the safe at―"

"No. He can't know. And don't fucking tell him," he said. "He needs to think I earned my tuition and expense money."

"Okay, I won't." I started looking at the paper again.

"The money's from my aunt. It's not from some student loan." I looked up over the paper and he was picking at Betty's face on the mug. "No one in my family knows she's given me money." He scraped his hand through his hair. "She doesn't give any to anyone else. If they knew, they'd all be after her for some." He caught my eye and quickly looked away. "She doesn't trust anyone in my family, other than me."

I knew his family was kind of fucked-up but hadn't thought him the best of the bunch. I put the paper down, took a banana from the basket, and peeled it.

Javier grabbed one too. "Ain't you got anything to eat other than rotten bananas and spoiled apples?" he asked.

"I can make some eggs."

"No, don't bother." He peeled the banana and ate it in a few bites.

I finished my tea and went over to the sink. I threw the banana peels in the trash.

He went back into the living room.

I was a little disappointed when he came back dressed in his sweatpants and sneakers. He had his shirt back on and his windbreaker in his arm.

"Timmy boy," he said, "thanks for taking care of me last night."

I looked up from washing my mug. _Taking care of? Did I do something I hadn't realized?_

Javier chuckled. "Not like that," he said, with a rise in his voice. The look on my face must have been one of slight shock. "For not letting me drink and drive, and for taking care of my money." He threw the Ziploc bag at me. It had been on the coffee table all night. "I'm leaving next Tuesday. I'll text ya." He slipped his windbreaker on over his T-shirt. The Yankees cap tilted sideways. He fixed it and curled the bill with the palms of his hands. "Keep that money someplace safe, like we talked."

"I will." I shut off the faucet and walked him to the door. I admired the way his hat accentuated the squared cut of the hair on the back of his head.

He turned around. "Thanks, man," he said and winked at me.

My heart melted as I closed the door behind him.

### ****

I was the only one in the bread aisle at Trader Joe's.

"I don't know why he has this effect on me," I said to Julia on the phone. I threw a loaf of wheat bread into my shopping cart. "He gets me all worked up and flustered every time I see him. He's straight, for Christ's sake. I should know better." I eyed the blueberry muffins but kept on going. "Just when I think I'm over him, he comes waltzing back into my life, sprouting wood on my living room sofa, flashing his pearly whites at me or cuddling with me in a lightning storm."

"He cuddled with you?" Julia asked.

I stopped. "Practically." I leaned against a shelf of cereal. "The way he tries to protect his family... it's just so endearing." I straightened. "Plus he's fucking hot as hell."

"So what are you going to do with his three thousand dollars?" she asked. I could hear the train conductor in the background. She was going into work on Sunday to catch up on things.

"He wanted me to tape the bag to the inside of my toilet lid," I whispered, just in case anyone in Trader Joe's was in hearing distance.

"Don't go out and spend it all in one place, like for those Carole King tickets or something."

"Carole King?"

"That lady, in Maine."

"Carolyn. Carolyn Sohier," I corrected her.

"Oh, yeah," she said. I heard her chatting with the train conductor. _Flirting._

"No, I wouldn't spend his money. Besides, the tickets are all sold out," I said when she was done.

"Oh? That's not what I heard."

I hated when she baited me like this. "Okay, what did you hear?"

"I happened to catch her on _Chronicle_ last night. You know, that television show?"

"Yes Julia, I haven't been gone from home so long not to remember _Chronicle_ and its tales of New England happenings," I said. There was a fat lady blocking the end of the aisle. "Excuse me."

"Excuse, what?" Julia said.

"Oh no, not you," I said to Julia.

The lady pulled over to the side and I squeezed past her.

"Anyway," Julia said, "I was at the gym and it was on."

"You were at the gym?"

"Yes," she said emphatically. "Anyway, she was talking about how she needed to take a few years off from show biz to find herself. She had a pretty rough upbringing. It was actually a pretty good interview."

A compliment coming from Julia was huge. "So what's the deal with the tickets? I can't believe you didn't call me," I said and bashed my shopping cart into a display of vegetables, which luckily didn't tumble.

"I was at the gym and I'm calling you now. Besides, you can't get _Chronicle_ in New York."

I took a plastic bag from the dispenser. "Alright."

"She said she was amazed at how quickly the event sold out. She thought everyone had forgotten about her. She's adding another night. The concerts are to raise money for some little island she's fallen in love with up there."

I threw some apples into the bag. "Summerwind. Summerwind Island," I said.

"Yeah, that's it," Julia said. "I guess this island was quite the place in its heyday. But it became rundown and secluded when the only bridge to it burned down― God, in the forties or fifties or something." She took a sip of what was most likely a Starbuck's coffee. "Ow, that's hot." I could hear her blowing on it. "A couple of her friends bought most of it. The island, that is. It's a small one. They've been fixing it up the past few years."

During one of my insomnia spells, I had read something about this on the Internet. "So when's the other concert?" I asked. The tone of my voice must have been loud as I got a few looks from people around me.

"I don't know. I guess the following night."

After getting out of work on Friday, I'd have plenty of time to get there. _But how?_

"Are you going to drive?" Julia asked. She knew I didn't drive... long story.

"No," I said. "Besides, who said I was going?" I didn't want to appear too eager. "The tickets are expensive and―"

"Timothy Benton, I've known you since the second grade when our mothers used to take us to the Salem Willows for popcorn and over to Forest River Park to play on the slides. I know if you set your mind on something, you're going to do it," she said.

Of course, she was right.

## Skinny and Sweet

Monday morning was brutal. Katie had me facilitate a bunch of meetings to show people how to calculate Six Sigma formulas in Excel. I'd been there barely a week and I had to get up in front of a room full of managers and speak without any preparation. I have to say, while it was scary, being stretched beyond my comfort zone felt good― and by the end of each meeting, I felt more confident.

It was around one. I stopped by her office, as she had requested. She was hidden behind a stack of reports on her desk. I could barely see her looking over the rim of her glasses at her computer.

"Hey, Katie," I said.

"Oh, Tim," she said, and pushed back her chair. "Just the person I want to see. Have a seat."

I looked around to find a place but both her guest chairs were stacked with binders.

She laughed. "Never mind. Let's go grab coffee."

We walked down the hallway and into the breakroom, which was no longer my makeshift office. That morning I had been moved to a cubicle.

She poured herself a cup of coffee. It had that burnt, stale smell. I opted for hot chocolate and mixed it up while she put in about six packets of sugar and probably four creamers into her sludge.

"So," she said, "how have the meetings gone?"

"Not bad," I said. "Finance has got the spreadsheets down pat. But Claims is another story."

"Hmm. I'm not surprised." She took a sip of her coffee, scrunched her nose and added another packet of sugar.

We sat down at my old table.

"Are we all set for the workshop?" I asked.

"Well, that's what I want to talk to you about." She took a little pack of chocolate-covered doughnuts out from her purse, opened the packet and slid it toward me.

I looked down at the doughnuts. I had been good after that night with Javier. I even bought all healthy food at Trader Joe's.

"We're not ready. Levy," she said, referring to the project manager, "is under the gun on some of his other projects."

"So we won't be doing it the week before Labor Day?"

She shook her head. "We're gonna push it out to the following week. First thing, Tuesday, after the holiday."

I smiled.

"Which means," she continued, "I'll have to work that entire weekend to run the numbers. They need to be fresh. The batch process in systems will run Saturday morning, the Claims run Sunday night. It'll be a data analysis nightmare."

She's not going to ask me to work Labor Day weekend, is―

"I was wondering," she said, "if you wanted to earn some extra money, I could use your help crunching numbers that weekend."

"I see," I said. _The Carolyn Sohier concert!_

She put a whole doughnut into her mouth. They were the small type. When I ate them, I did the same thing. "It'd be time and a half," she said, covering her mouth as she was chomping.

"Oh?" _The extra money would be great._ I looked over at the minimum wage poster hanging by the refrigerator. I was already making double what I had made at the Good Barn; time and a half would help me pay my American Express, and then there was the Discover Card payment. "The money would be good―" I said.

"Great," she said with a grin and got up from the table just as Matt Levy, the project manager, walked by. "Then we'll start at eight a.m. Saturday morning. I'll bring bagels and coffee."

"Katie. There you are," Matt said. He was a tall, slender guy with brown curly hair and a thick mustache. "I need to get with you right away, before my two." He disappeared again.

"Great," she said, this time with less enthusiasm, and followed by a heavy sigh. "Tim, I'll catch up with you later." She followed Matt. "Hold up!" I heard her say as her shoes flapped down the hall.

I grabbed a doughnut from the plastic sleeve she had left behind. I plopped one in my mouth. "Shit."

### ****

That night, I didn't feel like staying in. Besides, I was caught up on _AGD_ and _Ellen_ was all repeats.

I went home, changed into a pair of jeans and a freshly pressed madras buttoned-down and decided to do something different: I took myself out to a gay bar for a drink.

I could have gone out to one of the many bars in Manhattan on my way home from work but I wouldn't have been able to change. I've always liked to freshen up and change clothes before changing scenes.

When I got to Nate's, the bar three blocks from my apartment, it was pretty empty. It was a Monday night. Who the hell goes out on a Monday night to a gay bar in Brooklyn?

I sat at the bend in the bar. The dance floor was behind and to the right of me. I played with my phone while I waited for the bartender to come back. He was clearing glasses from a set of booths along the wall.

When he returned, I ordered a gin and tonic.

He was an older man with no shirt and a scrawny figure. He wore glasses and rainbow suspenders that barely held up his baggy thirty-inch Levi's. I know because I read the tag on his belt loop above his flat butt. He wasn't very attractive, not that I'm one to talk. I figured they must have reserved the cute bartenders for the weekends. Yet I wouldn't know. The only other time I had been there was when Julia had visited a couple of months back. While that, too, had been mid-week, I recalled the bartender being more alluring.

"Tanqueray and tonic," he said. He practically spun my glass in front of me as he placed it on the oak bar. He was dancing to a Madonna song coming from a speaker near the empty dance floor. He smiled a toothy grin.

_Dentures_. I could practically smell the Fixodent.

"Thank you," I said and threw down a twenty.

He shook his head and put up his hand. He was still dancing. "No money. He's paying," he said and pointed to the booth in the back corner.

I looked over and there, in the dark, appeared the curly 'fro of Matt Levy, the project manager from work.

I don't know why but I went numb. It's not like I was one to hide my sexuality, so it wasn't that I was afraid if he knew I was gay. I guess I was just shocked: No one, aside from family and Julia, had ever bought a drink for me before.

I waved. And he started over. "Shit," I muffled.

The bartender giggled and went over to the dishwasher.

"Tim," Matt said. He grabbed the stool at the corner next to me. His knee hit mine as he sat down.

"Mr. Levy, what a surprise to see you," I said, moving my knee away from him.

"Matt. You can call me Matt."

"Matt, nice to see you," I said.

"Likewise." He was all smiles and sipped his cocktail, some brown thing on ice.

"I didn't know you were... I didn't know you came here." _What was I supposed to say?_

He chuckled. "Yes, Tim, I am gay. It's not that uncommon in New York."

I laughed. There was a moment of awkward silence and suddenly we both started talking at the same time. "You come here―" I said, alongside him saying the same thing.

We laughed nervously.

"Nate's... come here once in a while," he said.

I nodded.

"So," Matt continued, "Katie tells me you're quite the lifesaver at the office. She said you're even going to help her out over Labor Day. Kind of you."

God, word gets around fast. "Is that right?" I asked.

"And from what I hear, you really helped out Claims with their data analysis."

"I did? Oh, yes, I did... today's meeting went well." I really didn't want to talk shop. I went there to get away.

He sank back his drink, whatever it was. Then he held up his finger to the bartender for another. "You want a gin?" Matt asked me.

I hadn't even taken a sip of the one I had just gotten. "Oh, no. Thank you, by the way. I appreciate it." I pointed to my drink.

"No problem. Anyone who can get Katie O'Reilly off the rafters deserves a drink... actually more than one."

I hadn't considered Katie to be high-strung, but then again I hadn't known her long.

"But I don't want to talk about that bitch," he said. "You live around here?" he asked.

_Oh my God. Does he want to come back to my place?_ "Uh, yeah. A couple of blocks down."

"Really? I'm over by the Good Barn, not too far."

"Ah, I know that place well. I used to work there."

He laughed through his nose. "Poor thing. The owner there..."

"Kipp?" I provided.

"Yeah, he's always in trouble for something."

"He is?" I had no idea.

"Yeah, you didn't know?"

Obviously I didn't know or I wouldn't have asked. "No," I said.

"Kipp was dealing in the back," he said. "There was a sting operation a couple of years ago."

I leaned back into my stool. "No wonder I was never allowed in his office." Javier's concern about hiding the money from his family was starting to make more sense.

I drank the rest of my gin and tonic, bought another one and him more of his brown stuff.

"Thanks, man." He lifted his glass toward me and sank back his shot in one swoop.

We had a couple more rounds while Skinny, the bartender, chatted with us about gay marriage and the new Pope. I was getting pretty lit.

The next thing I knew, "It's Raining Men" was blaring and I was out on the dance floor, spinning the bartender around like a whirling dervish, while Matt bopped alongside us.

"The temperature's rising, boys," said Skinny. He snapped his fingers and wiggled his hips. Then he sang, "The bottom man is getting low!"

"Bottom man?" Matt and I said to each other. But Skinny was too quick for us to take time out and laugh; he had us lined up like Rockettes, kicking up our heels.

After a couple more songs, I was ready to take a break but I heard the club-mix version of Carolyn Sohier's "Hands Across the Sun" come on.

"Oh my God! I fucking love this song," I said, bouncing up and down on my toes. I was a little overzealous. It must have been the alcohol. "I love Carolyn Sohier. She's my favorite." I pirouetted on my own out into the depths of the dance floor.

"Carolyn Sohier? Is that who this is?" Matt asked, as he sashayed up next to me. "She _is_ good. I'm going to see her over Labor Day weekend."

I stopped. "You have tickets to see _the_ Miss Carolyn Sohier?"

"Yeah," he said. His cheekbones shined above his grin.

Skinny skipped over to us, grabbed our hands and we spun around like a couple of schoolgirls outside at recess.

## Underneath the Bad Boy

When I got home, Javier was sitting on the floor outside my apartment door. He must've got in through the lobby from Melanie, my next-door neighbor, who he had met once before. His back was leaned up against my door and he was hugging his knees, with his head resting on them.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Hey, Tim," he said and paused.

I was a little tipsy and must've looked like a wreck, all sweaty from dancing.

"Ah, it's a long story," he went on. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a tight Hollister T-shirt. He looked as if he had been crying.

"Why didn't you call or text me?"

"Don't got my phone. Can I come in? I'll explain."

I took out my keys, unlocked the door and we went inside.

"Can I get you―" I started to say but noticed him wiping tears from his eyes. "Javier, what's wrong?" I helped him over to the couch and sat him down. I scooted next to him.

He stared out the window. "My life is over, Tim," he said.

"Why, what's wrong?" I wanted to touch him but restrained myself.

He shook his head, took in a deep breath and sighed. "I got her... I got..." His shoulders started to quiver.

"No," I said. I reached out and patted him on the head. "It's okay, Javier." Then I leaned in and kissed the back of his head. It must have been the alcohol that dared me to do it. "It's okay."

He turned and looked at me. He wiped his tears with the back of his hand. "Tim, I got Cheryl pregnant."

I leaned back. "Oh no."

"My dad kicked me out of the house. My life is over." He started to sob.

"Oh my God," I said. Cheryl was the cashier at the Good Barn, with whom he had been flirting. "Cheryl Manovich?"

He nodded in my shoulder. "Yeah."

"Are you sure? Are you sure it's yours?"

"She was a fucking virgin. I popped her cherry, Tim. She's never been with anyone else. I just wanted to have some fun, is all." He looked back out the window.

"You didn't use anything, no protection?" I was looking at his back.

He looked over his shoulder. "I tore through it."

I jerked my head back. "Huh?"

He put his elbows on his knees and rested his forehead on his hands. "The condom was too small. When I pulled out, my head... never mind."

I got up to make some tea. He came in shortly after and we sat at my café table, where he told me about the fight he had with his father and how he wound up at my place. "I had no place to go," he said. "My old man doesn't want me tied down." He made a tsking sound. "God forbid I don't help out with the business."

"How does...?" I started to ask but didn't want to get into the details and changed the subject. "RIT. You're supposed to go back tomorrow, aren't you?"

"I gotta take care of this first," he said.

"Okay. But how? What do you mean?" I asked.

"You still got the money I left here?"

"Of course. It's taped underneath the toilet tank, like we talked."

"Good," he said, "I'm going to need about a grand." He touched his fingers to his lips. "Cheryl wants to... wants to get an abortion."

I frowned. "I understand." Underneath his bad-boy exterior, I knew there was something more.

"Can I spend the night? I've got no place to go. My father won't let me back in the house."

"Of course," I said and I made up the couch for him again.

## Rape Me Sideways

Matt Levy's office looked out at the Hilton across the street. I sat in front of him while he finished typing up an email. He had called me in for a meeting.

I looked over the top of his bushy hair. A maid was changing the bed linen across the way while an older man vacuumed the room.

"So, handsome," Matt said, "you're probably wondering why I asked you here."

It was quarter to eleven. I was sort of free, now that the workshop had been pushed out. "Yeah, I was kind of wondering when the Outlook meeting notice just read, _Touch Base, my office_." _Did he call me handsome?_

"I had a good time last night. You?" he asked.

"I did." I was still feeling a little hungover, plus staying up till two in the morning consoling Javier didn't help.

"Well, I was wondering. If you... if you'd like to maybe have dinner some night."

I swallowed audibly. _Was he asking me out?_ Don't get me wrong. I was flattered. It's just that... well, even though a person of my size shouldn't be picky, he really wasn't my type. He must have read my silence as dismissive.

"I know... it was a stupid idea. I just―"

"No, no. It's not. I'd love to," I said. _I would?_

"You would?"

"I... I... it's just that people," I said, "of my... it's just that I don't often get asked out." _In fact, I never have._ "I was just a little surprised, is all. And a meeting to do it."

"I know. I didn't know how else to do it."

"That's okay."

"You don't have a boyfriend, do you?"

"Are you kidding me? No."

"What about Javier?" he asked. He was rubbing his arm, near his elbow.

"What about Javier?" I must have mentioned something about him last night in my drunken stupor.

"You said, last night, that you had a thing for him."

"I do... I mean I did! I mean, I did?"

Matt chuckled. "A little too much to drink?"

"Javier? God, no. He's as straight as they come." _And boy, does he come_. I hoped I hadn't gotten into that last night too.

"Great," Matt said and picked at a scab on his forearm. "You're not the pretentious type I usually find in gay bars. Neither am I... really." He put his elbow on his desk and rested his cheek on his fisted hand. "I thought since we have so much in common, and you're literally just a few blocks from my apartment, that maybe we could go out sometime." The scab started to bleed. I went back to the maid. She was still making the bed. The guy helping her vacuum was gone.

"Yeah, we both like Carolyn Sohier, for instance," I said.

"Exactly," Matt said, clutching at his chest. "Hey, if you're free on the night of the thirtieth..." He looked down at the calendar on his desk. "Well, that's Labor Day weekend." He waved a hand. "Oh, never mind."

_Was he going to ask me to go to Maine with him to see Carolyn Sohier?_ How desperate was this guy? He knew I had to work but maybe I could somehow finagle this. My heart started beating faster. I squirmed in my chair. "Sure. I can. I'd go to Maine with you."

He furrowed his brow. "Maine?"

"To see Carolyn Sohier, no?"

"In Maine?" He dabbed the blood from his scab with his other hand and wiped it on his pants.

"Carolyn Sohier. Isn't that where your tickets are for? Bar Harbor."

"Maine? No, I have tickets to see her at the 15th Street Playhouse here in New York."

"Huh?"

He took the tickets out from his wallet and threw them in front of me.

I tried not to touch the part where he had, for fear that there would be traces of blood. I looked at the tickets. "Catherine Smith, the cabaret singer?" He got it all confused. "She's always playing at the Playhouse. Carolyn Sohier is―"

He grabbed the tickets back. His buck teeth bit down on his lower lip. "Oh, no." He looked over the brim of his glasses. "I'm so embarrassed."

"Don't be." _Catherine Smith. She's so tacky._

He sat up in his chair and tilted a little to one side.

He's not farting, is he? God, please don't let him be.

He pushed his glasses back up on his nose. "I thought that was who you were going on about last night."

I didn't mean to let out a sigh. It just came out of me and was quite audible. "That's alright," I said. "It happens _." Yeah, to my grandmother, maybe mistaking the Monkees for the Beatles or something._

He looked at his watch and bounced up. "Shit. I have to be in twenty-seven conf in three minutes," he said, referring to the conference room. He grabbed a folder from his inbox. "I'll catch you later." And he left.

I sat there for a bit.

The maid at the Hilton sprayed something into the air, went out into the hall, where she placed the bottle into a cart, and closed the room's door.

### ****

"A farting Jew?" Julia said to me on the phone. I was on the F-train. It was barreling down Broadway. "You got asked out by a farting Jew who picks his scabs and thinks Catherine Smith is Carolyn Sohier?"

"You thought she was Carole King."

"I was joking."

"He's a nice guy. And I don't think he really farted―"

"You, yourself, said he lifted his cheek like he was cutting wind," she said.

A lady with a red-knit hat reading across from me looked up.

"I don't know if he actually... I didn't smell... oh, never mind."

The lady with the hat went back to her book.

"And you're going to go out with him?" Julia asked.

"I told him I would." I turned my back to the lady. "Besides, he thinks I'm handsome. And he said I was good-natured and non-pretentious, unlike many of the men at―"

"Uh huh. Well, good luck with him. You might want to bring some Beano," she said and started laughing uncontrollably.

"Very funny, very funny. Look, I have to go. I'm nearing my stop," I lied. "And besides the signal down... sketchy―" I hung up the phone, pretending I'd lost reception.

The lady who was reading laughed at me and went back to her book.

I took out my Kindle. I was nearing the end of _Rape Me Sideways_ and wanted to find out if Jasmine was finally going to go with the man who took advantage of her in the Napa Valley grape fields.

I had just turned on the Kindle when my phone beeped, a voice message from Javier. He must have called when I was on the phone with Julia.

I retrieved the message and listened. He wanted to know if he could spend the night again. "Be over for dinner at seven."

"Dinner at seven?" I said.

The lady looked up from her book. "You sure are poplar," she said, as if calling me a tree.

## The Midler-Shuffle

I was listening to Bette Midler's "Drinking Again" while sipping a glass of Cabernet.

Javier was late. I had made pasta Bolognese and a fresh spinach salad, and picked up some dessert. I had also set aside a nice bottle of wine but that was now half gone.

It was 8:45. He wasn't answering his phone and he wasn't responding to his text messages.

"Why do sad songs always seem to suit me?" I took another sip of wine.

The linen drapes swayed in the breeze. I could feel the coolness of autumn approaching.

Dixie jumped on my lap. I patted her head and with my thumb rubbed the buff marking on her nose. It reminded me of a blaze from a horse's muzzle. The Midler-shuffle on my iPod turned to "Am I Blue."

I shooed Dixie off my lap. "Enough," I said and went over to my iPod and paused it. I was about to put something more upbeat on when there was a knock at the door.

"It's about fucking time," I said. Before getting to the door, I thought about running to the bathroom to freshen up. "Unh, forget it." I was hopeless anyway.

I flung open the door, half expecting Javier's pathetic excuses to greet me and the other half hoping for him to be standing there with a bouquet of red roses. But I didn't expect...

"Matt?"

"Tim, I'm sorry to―"

"How did you know where―"

"I didn't have your number. I would have called," he said and put his hand on the doorjamb to steady himself.

He was drunk. I could smell the booze.

"How did you get up here?" I asked. "I didn't even buzz you in."

Then Javier came down the hall. "I let him in," said Javier. He was holding the set of keys I'd left for him that morning. "He seems to have a thing for you."

"Shhh," Matt said to him.

"C'mon on in," I said to them both. What was I supposed to do?

"I'm sorry," Matt said. "I was at Nate's and thought you might stop... by... stop in. I didn't want to leave it how we had at my office."

I rolled my eyes and shut the door. "There was nothing wrong with our office... meeting."

Javier smiled at me and walked into the kitchen. "What's for dinner?"

"For dinner? You're late," I said, with a sneer.

"Is this Javier?" Matt asked me. "The one you're in love with?"

"I'm not―" I began.

"What?" Javier interrupted. "In love?"

I moved toward the kitchen. "He's drunk. He doesn't know what he's saying."

Javier smiled, shook his head and snickered.

Matt started down my hall.

"If you're looking for the bathroom, it's down there on the left," I said to him. "God, I hope he's not going to be sick." I started back toward the kitchen.

Javier was licking the sauce from the spoon I had used to stir it. "Yum. I'm starved."

"Where have you been?"

"What? Are you my wife?" He placed the lid back down on the pot.

I walked back to the living area and sat down on the arm of the oversized sofa chair.

Javier came out of the kitchen. He still had the spoon in his hand. It was licked clean. "Look, Tim, I'm sorry." He leaned against the back of the chair with me and placed his arm on my shoulder. "I didn't mean to be late. And I didn't mean to say that... wife comment. That was rude of me."

"Okay."

"Do you really love me?" he asked.

I got up from the chair. "No." I scratched my arm.

He was silent for a bit and then stood next to me. "I'm straight, you know."

I moved away from him. "I know."

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry? You don't have to apologize for who you are."

"Did you think I was gay?" Javier asked.

"No, of course not." I closed my eyes. "You knocked up Cheryl, for Christ's sake." I turned to him. "I don't expect you to apologize for being straight. I'm not trying to change you." _Was I?_

We stared at each other for a moment.

He picked at his fingernail and took a deep breath. "You're the best." He moved closer to me. "A guy couldn't ask for a better friend." He grinned and I swooned. "He welcomes me into his home when my parents kick me out for knocking up the neighbor _and_ he makes me dinner." He paused and then pointed at me with the spoon. "I just want to let you know I appreciate you."

The sound of Matt vomiting filled the room.

"Oh no," I said.

Javier laughed. Then I did too.

He pointed his chin toward the hallway. "How the hell'd you land that one?"

I started back toward the kitchen. "Oh my God, Javier. You have no idea. I work with him. He's all over me." I clutched my chest. "Me. Who the hell, in their right mind, would want me?"

"Hey." Javier put his hand on my shoulder to stop me. "Don't say that. You're a great guy. Plenty of men would want you. In fact... I want you."

"What? You're crazy."

He smiled.

I died a little.

"C'mon," he said, "you remember that night. That night at the Grip and in the walk-in." His lips parted.

I moved closer to him. "Alright, now you have me totally fucking confused."

Another wretch barreled down the hall. I shook my head.

"It's not like that," Javier said.

"Like what?"

"Like... like I'm gay. Or even bi. I'm not. I'm straight. I just wanted to be with you. And the other night, watching the thunderstorm, I liked that."

We stood silent for a bit.

The toilet flushed.

"You're sure you're not gay? Because now you have me wondering."

Javier laughed. "I should go. I don't want to hurt you."

"What? No," I said. "You have nowhere to go. Besides, I don't want you to go."

Matt came stumbling out of the bathroom.

Javier looked down the hall and then back to me. "You can do better than that." And he went into the kitchen.

"I'm going to get going now," Matt said. He held onto the doorframe.

"You're not driving, are you?" I asked.

"No, no, I'm just a couple blocks from here. Remember?" He tucked the back of his shirt in, the same one he had had on at work.

"Goodbye, Matt," Javier said from the kitchen.

Matt looked down, opened the door and let himself out.

"Oh my God," I said. "Why me?"

Javier walked up to me, put his arm around me and said, "It's just you and I, kid."

"I― just you and me."

"Same thing."

### ****

We ate dinner while sitting at the café table in the kitchen. We had finished the bottle of Cabernet that I had started and were onto a new bottle of Spanish Rioja.

The Midler-shuffle was back on. "Do You Wanna Dance" filled the air.

Javier looked up from his plate. He had a smear of sauce on the left of his mouth. "Why do you gay guys like Barbra Streisand so much?"

I rested my fork on my plate. "First off," I said, "this is Bette Midler, not Barbra Streisand. If you're going to be liv― if you're going to be staying with a gay guy, you've got to learn your divas. And, secondly― and more to your point― we like strong women. We identify with their plight, I guess. Some of us want to be like them."

He wiped the sauce from his face. "Like you want to be a girl?"

"No, not like that. A diva is a goddess, of sorts. That some of us adore. Though some gay guys like to camp it up and dress like them." I took a sip of my wine. "For me, I admire the power of their voice... the talent... the emotion."

He sat for a moment, as if taking it all in. "You're talented," he said.

"I guess I'm a diva then." I watched him eat some more of the pasta.

"This is really good."

"I'm glad you like it."

We finished eating, cleaned up the table and settled into the living room for cannoli I had picked up at the bakery around the corner. I changed the iPod to Carolyn Sohier.

With the pastry in his mouth, Javier asked, "Who's this?"

"This is Carolyn Sohier. She's my absolute favorite diva. She's sort of the Greta Garbo of divas."

"Greta Garbo?"

"Never mind," I said and picked the cannoli up from my plate. "Carolyn Sohier is finally doing a concert next weekend, up in Maine, after being pretty much retired for years. At the height of her career, she went off into obscurity." I took a bite. The sugar gave me a little rush and I savored the taste.

"You going?" He licked his finger, placed it in the dish to gather the remaining powdered sugar and licked it again.

"Unh uh, it's expensive. Plus, I have to work." I took another bite.

"When's she coming to New York?"

"She's not. It's a one-time thing."

"Fuck work then," he said, with a squint. "You should go. Life's too short not to enjoy and do the things you love."

"This is coming from a man who knocked up his neighbor, a cute little cashier at the Good Barn. I guess you don't know the meaning of consequences yet," I said and immediately felt like shit for saying it.

His shoulders drooped and he sat back.

I took his plate― my mother's old Lenox― and placed it on top of mine. "I'm sorry," I said. "That was kind of a low blow." I stood up and pushed back the strand of hair that had fallen in front of his face. He had let his hair grow out over the summer.

He grabbed my hand. "Seriously, Tim. If you want to go― go. How much are the tickets? I've got three thousand dollars sitting in your toilet. I'll give it to you, for all the trouble and for helping me out."

"Javier, no. That's not―"

"Look, I probably won't be going back to RIT this semester... if ever."

"What! You're not going back to school?" Offering to buy the tickets was nice and all but this was the first I was hearing of him not going back to RIT. "You can't just... I thought Cheryl was getting an abortion."

He looked down and cleared his throat. "She doesn't want one now. That's why I was late."

I sat back down next to him on the sofa and put the china down on the coffee table. "Oh, God. Javier. What are you going to do?"

"I'm not sure yet. My dad wants me to marry her." He looked up at me. "But I don't love her, Tim." He got up and went to my iPod docked into a station on top of the television. "What's this song?" he asked.

"This is from Carolyn's first album. It's a cover from _Godspell_ called 'By My Side.'"

"It's nice," he said and turned it up.

The haunting melody filled the room.

He went over to the window and rested his forearm on the casing. I could see his reflection staring out toward the park.

I grabbed the dishes and brought them to the kitchen sink. I started the water and was going to start cleaning up when I thought I heard him sniveling over the sound of Carolyn's voice.

I shut the water off and went back to the living room. Javier was still looking out the window. His shoulders were trembling.

I went to him and hugged him from behind.

He clenched at my hands around his taut stomach.

I wanted to kiss him to make it all better. But I restrained myself.

We listened to Carolyn sing some more. The lights twinkled in the park below us.

The song reached its peak, in a beautiful harmony that rattled the remote atop the speaker. That part of the song always got to me and I think it got to Javier too.

He turned around and buried his face in the crook of my shoulder.

I kissed his head.

I thought I felt him kiss my neck but it could have just been his tears against my skin.

## God and Baby Jesus

Katie popped in front of my cube. "Fucking Matt called out sick. Of all fucking days."

I had never heard her swear. Perhaps this was the side of her Matt had warned me about, her high-strung nature under stress. "Oh, really?" I said.

"I need you to run the ten o'clock," Katie said. She had a piece of a Pop-Tart in her hand and shoved it in her mouth. "Twenty-seven conf," she muttered. It was hard to understand her with the food in her mouth.

"Okay," I said, stretching the vowel. But she was already walking away. "I have no fucking clue what the meeting is for," I said to myself.

My phone rang.

"Tim Benton," I said.

"Tim, it's Matt. Matt Levy."

"Oh, hi. I hear you're a little under―"

"Yeah, about that. If you talk to Katie, don't mention anything about last night."

"Oh, sure. I wouldn't anyway."

"Thanks. I'm sorry I showed up at your place. I've been a bit of a mess lately, as you can probably tell."

"She just came by and wants me to run your meeting―"

"My notes are in a folder on my desk," he said and hung up.

I got up from my cube and went to his office to rummage around for his ten o'clock folder.

The old guy was helping to make up the room again over at the Hilton. I thought I caught him smiling at me.

I took the folder and read it as I went up to the twenty-seventh floor.

When I got to the conference room, Katie was addressing the attendees from the nine o'clock.

"And Tim Benton," she said, "will be running the meeting at ten. He's very good. I'm confident you'll be pleased." She tugged at the gray suit coat she wore over her pink blouse.

I waited outside the meeting room. Through the room's blinds, I could see the attendees. I didn't know everyone but those I recognized were from the top floor, the executive suites.

I turned around and leaned up against the wall. "What the fuck am I getting into?" I whispered. I breathed slowly and just prayed that I wouldn't sweat and stain the pits of my blue shirt.

I could still hear Katie addressing the room. "Why don't we take five before the next meeting," she said. "At 10:10, we'll start up and I'll introduce Tim, the new PM."

_The new PM? Project Manager?_ I thought I was just running Matt's meeting, not taking over his project.

The group piled out of the conference room. As the last suit left, I sauntered in. Katie was putting her notes into her binder.

"Oh, Tim," she said, "I'm so glad you're here early."

I thought I was on time but Matt mentioned something about the meetings-start-late rule.

"I need a minute with you." She shut the conference room's door behind me. We were alone.

I sat down on a leather chair, opposite the door. My back was to a view of Central Park.

"You've got to say yes," she said and sat down across from me. She folded her hands on the mahogany table. "At least I hope you say yes. It would make my life a hell of a lot easier."

I didn't say anything.

"I want you to take over Matt's project," she said.

I opened my mouth to speak but she beat me to it.

"I know... I know it's a lot to ask but I think you'd be great for it."

Again, I went to say something.

"You're hesitating. Oh shit."

"I'm not! I'm not," I spat out before she could get another word in. "It's just that I'm surprised. What about Matt?"

"Let's just say, Matt is no longer with the company."

"What?" My chair tilted backward and I nearly fell over.

"There's a little handle," Katie said, reaching under her chair to demonstrate how to adjust it. "There you go." She put her hands back to her face. "I can't say much more than that but let's just say there is now an open position."

"You're kidding me." _They fired him?_

"I know we hired you as an analyst, at an analyst's rate. The PM role would still be a temp job but temp to perm, after a couple of months, of course."

"I see," I said.

"It's forty dollars an hour," she said.

My mouth fell open. _An hour?_

"Oh, God." She bit her lower lip. "I know it's not much but I can tell you when it goes perm, it's salary and in the low hundreds with excellent benefits."

_Forty dollars an hour?_ A few months ago, I was barely over minimum wage.

She bit the nail of her left index finger.

I sat up straight and put my hands on my hips. "Sure. I'll take it."

She burst out of her chair. It rolled backward and slammed against the door. Then she ran over to my side of the table and gave me a vigorous handshake. I stood up. "Oh, what the hell," she said and gave me a hug just as my cell phone rang. "I'll let you get that. The execs won't show till around 10:30," she said and started toward the door.

"I heard you say 10:10."

"They're execs. They'll be here at 10:30. Trust me." She smiled and headed out the door.

I picked up my phone. It was Javier. "Why the fuck is he calling?" I slid the Answer button. I hesitated when I almost answered, " _Hey, babe_." Why, I do not know, for I've never had a _babe_ to call as such. "Hello?"

"Tim, how do you shut the smoke detector off?" he shouted. I could hear the alarm beeping in the background.

"Oh, God! What the hell happened?" I asked.

"HOW DO YOU SHUT IT OFF?"

"You can't! You just have to wave the smoke away from it."

The alarm grew quieter on the other end. It sounded as if he had moved into the hallway, outside my apartment. "I was making toast," he said, "and I didn't realize I overcooked it."

"Just shut the toaster off―"

"I did!"

"And wave a towel or something at the smoke detector and open a window."

"Good idea." He hung up.

"Oh my God. Why me?"

The execs started piling in as Katie predicted― right around 10:30― just as I received a text message.

Javier: Met ur landlord. He's not happy wants to talk 2u.

Me: Later. I'm busy.

"God and baby Jesus, help me."

## Best Day of My Life

When I got home, my landlord was waiting for me. I hadn't had the chance to call him. Turns out earning forty dollars an hour involved a lot more than I had been used to.

"Mr. Benton," he said. I was at my mailbox in the lobby.

"Oh, Mr. Harcourt," I said, "nice to see you." I took out the mail and locked the mailbox shut. "I heard you wanted a word with me. I just got a new job and have been ball... have been out straight."

"Your new boyfriend." He shook his finger in front of my face. "Only one person allowed in that apartment."

"Boyfriend?"

"That's what he said. That Hispanic kid in your apartment."

"He said that? I mean, of course he said that." I could feel myself turning red. "Yes, my boyfriend's in a bit of a pickle and needs a place to stay for the next couple of weeks."

"One person. That was our deal," Mr. Harcourt said. He pulled a tissue from the pocket of his blue knit sweater and wiped his nose.

_August and he's wearing a sweater?_ "Well, what if I give you an extra hundred for the month? Would that cover the extra in utilities?" I asked.

Mr. Harcourt put the tissue back in his pocket. His jaw trembled, as it always did. "One fifty."

"Deal." With the extra money I was making, it wouldn't be a problem.

He went back and opened the door to his studio apartment. He then turned to me as I was getting into the elevator. "You leave the check under my door. Oh, and tell your boyfriend to stick with take-out. He almost burned the building down."

"Will do, Mr. Harcourt. Thank you for understanding."

He slammed his door as the elevator opened.

"Boyfriend," I said to myself. I couldn't stop from smiling the whole ride up.

When I opened the door to my apartment, I could tell Javier was cooking something. The smell was... interesting. I couldn't quite make it out.

"Javier?"

"Hey, Tim." He was in the kitchen, checking on something on the stove. He had on a white pair of running shorts, a red T-shirt and was barefoot.

"What are you―" I started.

He straightened and stuck his chest out. "I'm making you dinner."

I was flabbergasted. No one, besides my mother, had ever made me dinner. The smile I had plastered on my face in the elevator hadn't left.

"In celebration of Llewellyn Insurance's new project manager," he said.

That afternoon, I had called him, told him the news and told him I was going to be a little late. I put my briefcase down on the oversized chair. "Oh my God. This is wonderful." I still couldn't make out the smell.

"Now, go get yourself comfortable," he said and turned toward the counter. "Oh, but first..." He grabbed a glass of wine and handed it to me.

"Javier, I don't know what to say."

"Say nothing." He pulled up another glass and we toasted. "Now go get comfortable. Dinner is almost ready."

In my bedroom, I changed out of my shirt and tie, put on a pair of jeans and my favorite _Judy Garland Show_ T-shirt.

My phone vibrated. It was a text from Julia: How's the farting Jew?

"Enough," I said. I left the phone on my nightstand and headed back out to see Javier.

American Authors were playing in my docking station. Not quite what I would pick for dinner music but this was Javier's dinner. And because of that, I loved it.

God, please don't wake me.

We sat in the living room to eat. Dinner was a tuna fish casserole. He used the albacore I had in the cupboard, mixed it with cream of mushroom soup, a can of peas and placed it over toast.

"I still can't manage your toaster. I think something's wrong with it," he said, as he crunched into the burned bread.

I had to admit, aside from the overcooked toast, it wasn't half bad.

"Thank you, Javier," I said. "It's delicious."

"My mom used to make this for me when I was a kid. It was one of my favorites."

We finished up, had another glass of wine, did the dishes― I washed; he dried― and we got ready for bed.

It was past eleven by the time I got back to my bedroom, far later than I had planned. There were three voicemails from Julia and a text message. She wasn't used to going a whole day without hearing from me.

I dialed her. I could hear Javier in the bathroom, running the water and gargling.

"'lo," she said. She was eating something.

"Oh hey, it's me."

She swallowed. "It's about fucking time. I thought you died or something. It's after eleven. Where the―"

"Julia," I interrupted, "you don't even know the half of it." I went on to tell her about Matt throwing up in my bathroom, my promotion and Javier moving in, temporarily.

I could hear Javier flush the toilet, the door open and the patter of his feet heading down the hall to the couch.

"He's fucking living with you after he knocked up that cute little cashier? Isn't she the blonde one I had talked to in the breakroom?"

"Yeah, that's her," I said. For some reason, during one of Julia's visits, she and Cheryl seemed to hit it off.

"I can't believe she let him... you know," Julia said.

"Let's not go there. Julia, I've got to get some sleep. I've got a big day ahead of me tomorrow, another meeting with the twenty-seventh floor."

"Alright, sunshine. Love you," she said. "You have a good night and get plenty of rest. Maybe I'll come out to see you soon. We can do a play."

"I'd like that," I said. I was being genuine. As annoying as Julia could be at times, she was still my best friend.

We hung up. I set my alarm, took my pill out― for my high blood pressure― and settled into a pair of navy-blue polyester shorts and my _Once Upon a Mattress_ night shirt.

After I used the bathroom, I walked down the hall to go to the kitchen for a glass of water. As I approached, I could hear Javier's music through his earbuds.

I went into the kitchen, poured myself a glass of water and closed the refrigerator when I heard moaning.

I stopped in my tracks. I listened, a little more moaning and the slight din of music. I slowly peeked into the living room.

From the streetlamp's light outside the living room window, I could see him masturbating. His gym shorts were down around his knees and he wore no shirt. From the looks of it, he needed two hands to handle the thing between his legs. "Oh, God," he muttered.

I gasped and rushed back down the hall to my bedroom, where I shut the door and leaned against it.

I heard Javier scurry. "Shit," he said. He was coming down the hall.

"Oh my God," I whispered, turned around and pushed in the lock to my doorknob. Why, I don't know. I made sure it went in slowly so he couldn't hear it click and lock. I didn't want to be obvious.

"Tim? Tim, did you... God, I'm so embarrassed."

I sat down on my bed and just stared at the white on the back of my door and the stainless-steel knob with its button depressed.

"Tim, I'm sorry. It's just that... there's no place for me to... oh, forget it."

I got up from my bed and shuffled over to the door in my slippers. "Javier, I'm going to bed now." _What am I saying?_ I should say, "Javier, let me come out there and suck you dry!" _Tim, you're a fat fool._

"Night," he said. "I'm sorry." He still sounded close to the door. I could picture him with his forearm on the door and his head pressed against it. "Tim, it won't happen again." He cleared his throat.

"It's not a problem," I said. Not a problem? Get on your knees, Chub-a-lub.

I heard his feet patter against the floor. "I'm gonna go nut in the bathroom instead." The bathroom exhaust fan went on. "I shouldn't be doing that in your... I just thought I was alone."

I put my hand to my forehead and started pacing. I heard the bathroom door shut and lock.

"Tim, you fool. You could have had him," I said and threw myself on my bed. I tried to close my eyes but the thought of Javier in my bathroom pleasuring himself was just too much.

_Now's your fucking chance._

I jumped out of bed, threw open my door and went to the bathroom and banged on the door.

"TIM! OH MY GOD! What the hell are you doing?" he said.

"Javier, I need to know. I need to know why you told my landlord you were my boyfriend."

There was silence.

"Javier?"

There was a groan. "Tim, you... you got me just as I..."

"You came? Already?"

I heard the roll of the toilet paper dispensing. "Well, I kind of had a running start. As you saw."

I laughed.

The toilet flushed and soon the door opened. He was adjusting his crotch through his shorts. His nipples were erect. I tried to ignore the weighted thing flopping in his pants like a spent hose. "Tim," he said, "about your landlord. I didn't want him to think you were just letting anyone stay. So I took a little liberty. I hope you don't mind but I said I was your boyfriend."

I just stared at him for a moment. "No, I don't mind."

His face was flush. There was a bit of perspiration on his forehead. He wiped it with the back of his hand.

"If... if you were... you know... gay, do you think it would be true?"

"Yes," he said and put his index finger to my lips as if trying to quiet me. "Don't second-guess yourself."

"Javier?" I asked. His finger was still on my lip. "Did you wash your hands?"

# There's More Where That Came From

Help Javier keep his hands clean. _Tim on Broadway_ is just getting started.

_Tim on Broadway: The Complete First Season_ is available now, containing all five episodes of the debut season in one book. CLICK HERE to purchase it— at a 40% savings over buying the episodes.

# About the Author

Rick Bettencourt is the author of _Not Sure Boys_ , _Painting with Wine_ and _Tim on Broadway_. Rick hates to cook, and can often be seen eating out. He lives in the Tampa Bay area, with his husband and their dog, Bandit.

You can follow Rick on Twitter @rbettenc, and you should also subscribe to his mailing list at rickbettencourt.com. You'll receive all sorts of good stuff, but never any spam.

