Me, Myself and Someone Else

  When I was showing the two of them around the house, Alejandro made a pass at me. Jorge had excused himself to use the bathroom, and Alejandro pulled me into the bedroom, unbuttoned his jeans and offered me his erect ‘housewarming present’. I was tempted. It’d been a few weeks since I’d had sex and many months since I’d had good sex; but did I want to go back there, after what he’d done with Blake? ‘I thought you were behaving yourself these days,’ I said, ‘that things with Joshua were a bit rocky.’

  But Alejandro just gave a dismissive snort and tried to put his hand down the back of my jeans. I wriggled away. ‘Jorge will come back,’ I said by way of excuse.

  Alejandro gave me a long assessing look, then raised his eyebrows, tucked his cock away, and buttoned up. When we went back downstairs, Alejandro turned his attentions on Damon. But I noticed he seemed to be doing so with half an eye on me. However, Damon was entranced by the Italian boy I’d hired as a waiter. He gave Alejandro short shrift. ‘I heard about you from Stephen and I heard about you from Blake,’ he informed him. ‘After that, the idea of sex with you just seems entirely superfluous.’

  English was Alejandro’s second language so a word like superfluous probably wasn’t in his vocabulary, but he got the drift. He was the first guest to depart, informing me at the door that as I was rejecting him, he was obliged to leave, as he had to have sex tonight. ‘Well, isn’t it lucky that you have Joshua waiting at home to provide that,’ I replied.

  Alejandro looked thoroughly startled. It was as if I’d suggested he have sex with a woman!

  When Ant produced a birthday cake, ablaze with candles, Damon snickered that it looked ‘like something Primrose would have baked for her church bazaar’. Elisabeth was hovering nearby and overheard. ‘Who’s Primrose?’ she demanded to know.

  Damon distracted her by complimenting her singing voice—she had drowned us all out during ‘Happy Birthday’—and asking why she’d never sung on stage? But he regretted that deflection as Elisabeth then cornered him for a half-hour conversation about her lost career opportunities; and Damon lost the opportunity to bond with Massimo the waiter over the cutting and distribution of the cake.

  My mother and Uncle Vic had come together, though she informed me that she’d made him change out of one of his ridiculous hip-hop outfits before they left his house. ‘I told him that I couldn’t have an escort who was wearing more gold jewellery than I am.’

  Vic had changed into his old standby—black tee shirt, tight threadbare jeans and leather chaps, an outfit that emphasised his renowned crotch—but still he sulked for the first half hour of the party. However, after throwing back several champagnes, he regained his usual élan and proceeded to try to chat up Arthur. When I noticed, I hastily took Vic aside and informed him that Arthur was married to Eleanor and was a grandfather. Vic merely shrugged. ‘Ever since I walked in the door he hasn’t been able to keep his eyes off my package,’ Vic replied. ‘I haven’t been cruised so relentlessly in years.’

  I didn’t feel I could say that Arthur was probably flabbergasted—undoubtedly he’d never have seen a man of his own years dressed as Vic was.

  Eleanor, usually so alert, was utterly oblivious to what was going on. She and Harriet were too busy taking in every aspect of the renovations, speculating as to the cost, and feeling thrilled to be invited to a party where there was a celebrity (my mother) and a uniformed waiter. They both said yes to whatever Massimo offered more often than they ought to have and both got ‘totally tiddly’.

  Just before midnight, the party began to wind down. Vic made an unwelcome pass at Arthur in the garden. ‘He bent over, pretending he was trying to identify some plant, and naturally I took that as an invitation,’ Vic defended himself.

  Elisabeth bundled the disgraced Vic out of the house and took him home, while Strauss and I soothed the startled Arthur with several large whiskies. Finally, Arthur felt sufficiently restored and able to escort his wife and Harriet back across the street. ‘Don’t tell Eleanor,’ he hissed in my ear.

  I promised I wouldn’t, though I had every intention of telling the rest of the street at the first opportunity. I’d just waved them off and was about to go back inside, when I noticed someone, a guy, walking purposefully along the middle of the street. It was too dark for me to make him out, but for one fearful, thrilling moment, I wondered if it might be Blake. Had he decided to make an appearance at the last minute? Had my overture played on his mind today? I knew he must have been surprised, not only to have received the invitation, but that I was celebrating my birthday at all, given my contrivances to avoid it the previous year. It must have made him think that I’d changed.

  The figure had drawn closer and as he passed near a street light, I saw that it wasn’t Blake. The build was too slight. I was about to go back inside, when the walker raised his hand and waved. I lingered, curious, and gave a kind of half-wave in response. All my guests had turned up. Was it one of the other neighbours? Finally, he drew close enough for me to recognise. It was a neighbour, the cute rugby-playing straight boy from down the street, whose name escaped me. I hadn’t seen him since I’d returned to Ridge Street and had vaguely assumed he must have moved elsewhere. ‘Hey you’re back,’ he greeted me enthusiastically.

  I remembered his name. Nathan. ‘Yeah, I was living in a friend’s place over in Kings Cross for six months or so while the house was being renovated.’

  ‘Yeah, I noticed all the work going on. I actually thought you’d gone for good. I mean, your neighbour gave me that impression.’

  ‘Which neighbour?’ I asked sharply.

  Nathan indicated Rick’s house. ‘The guy who wears the suit. I don’t know his name.’

  It was Blake of course. ‘What did he say? When was this?’ I asked, trying to keep my tone light, though I was burning with curiosity.

  ‘Oh, it was ages ago. I’d knocked on your door and was waiting when he came out. I can’t remember what he said exactly, but something like you weren’t living there and probably wouldn’t be coming back anytime soon.’

  ‘Well, that would have been wishful thinking on his part,’ I replied with a bitter laugh. ‘But actually, it’s him that’s gone, moved out, thank goodness.’

  Nathan smiled a little nervously at this display of enmity. ‘So? You’re having a party?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s to celebrate the renovations though it’s also for my birthday.’

  ‘It’s your birthday? Today?’ he queried and I nodded.

  ‘Hey, well congratulations, happy birthday,’ he crowed, offering his hand.

  But as I took his hand to shake it, suddenly, he seemed to think better of that, and enfolded me in a quick, fraternal hug. ‘Happy birthday Stephen,’ he repeated, and I was somewhat surprised that he’d remembered my name.

  He was pulling away from me by the time it had occurred to me that I had just missed a golden opportunity for my hands to drift south and explore that pert little rump of his. Perhaps Nathan had a similar thought, recalled my sexual bent or regretted his impulse, as suddenly he wouldn’t meet my eye. ‘I walked past your place before on my way out to dinner and noticed the party,’ he mumbled to the pavement. ‘It looked pretty lively.’

  There was something in his voice that struck me: a note of wistfulness. Was he offended that he hadn’t been invited? Perhaps he had noticed the other neighbours through the window and felt slighted? ‘It was a very small affair,’ I assured him. ‘Just close friends and family.’

  Nathan nodded. ‘Okay.’

  Neither of us spoke for a moment and I expected him to slope off. When he failed to, it struck me that perhaps he was waiting to be invited now. ‘Hey, do you want to come in for a drink?’ I asked. ‘But it’s really quiet. Just a few friends left and I think they’re planning to head off to Arq soon.’

  I thought the mention of that club, an allusion to things homosexual, might see Nathan hastily scuttle home, but to my surprise, he agreed eagerly. ‘Yeah, that’d be nice,’ he said grinning.


  I began to wonder if perhaps Nathan had already had a few drinks over his dinner to make him so bold. ‘You can see the renovations,’ I added, realising that he was perhaps just curious to see the changes like so many others on the street.

  I started to walk back inside, when something occurred to me and I swung back around to him. ‘Hey, you said you’d knocked on my door, when you ran into Blake. Why was that? You wanted something?’

  ‘Oh. I just dropped around because you’d invited me over …’

  I had no idea what he was talking about and it must have shown on my face as Nathan began to look and sound a little awkward.

  ‘Though I guess, I w-was a bit slow at showing up,’ he continued clumsily, ‘but yeah … I mean, I did, eventually … come.’

  I made an effort to smile, though my mind was scrambling. I’d invited him over? I could remember running into him in the street one day, being struck by how cute he looked in his running shorts, and flirting with him but I had no recollection of what I had said. Evidently he had taken me seriously.

  I was still thinking through the ramifications of what this, in combination with that unexpected hug, might mean—was Nathan not as straight as I assumed?—when Strauss appeared in the hallway. ‘Hallelujah, finally, an attractive new guest,’ he declared, swooping down on us and disrupting the delicate tension that had drawn out between Nathan and me.

  Strauss marched forward, tucked his arm through Nathan’s and escorted him inside. ‘You are very late,’ he scolded Nathan, ‘but luckily for you, Stephen and I are very forgiving of attractive young men and their neglect.’

  It was only now that the moment with Nathan had been lost that I realised it had been charged with portent. Something had been about to happen, to be said …

  I hurried after them, tapping Strauss on the shoulder, trying to intercede. ‘He’s my neighbour,’ I hissed in Strauss’s ear, trying to warn him off, ‘and he’s straight.’

  But that was the wrong thing to say to Strauss. He arched an eyebrow, and there was a new gleam in his eye. ‘Really?’

  One of his favourite sports was toying with straight boys. He turned to me. ‘Stephen, what sort of host are you? Get this poor lamb a drink.’

  I wanted to refuse. I knew how Strauss operated. Step one was to ply the straight boys with alcohol or joints. I suggested that Strauss fetch the drink but he wasn’t falling for that. ‘No, no, we’re going to sit down here and get acquainted,’ Strauss insisted, collapsing onto the couch and tugging Nathan after him. ‘What do you want to drink doll?’

  Initially, Nathan had looked a little startled but now he was smiling, albeit nervously. ‘Um, maybe some champagne, seeing it’s a celebration.’

  Strauss pointed me in the direction of the kitchen. ‘Bring the bottle and make it the good stuff. I need a refill too.’

  I didn’t really like leaving Strauss alone with Nathan even momentarily, but as I hesitated, Strauss snapped his fingers and directed me to the kitchen. I turned and hurried through. Where was Strauss’s bloody boyfriend? But as I walked through to the kitchen I spotted him outside with Damon, Ant and Massimo the waiter. From the smell of it, they were having a joint. ‘Ahmed, I think Strauss needs you,’ I called out as I grabbed a fresh bottle from the fridge and glanced around for glasses.

  But Ahmed had the joint between his lips and waved me away. My irritation began to mount, exacerbated by the fact that I could not find any glasses. I was about to snap at the waiter, who Damon was fawning over, when I discovered them, in their cupboard. Massimo, bless him, had washed them. ‘Ahmed, Strauss is making a new friend and wants to introduce you,’ I called out cunningly.

  That made Ahmed jump to his feet, push past me and dart through to the living room. The others also got to their feet. ‘Someone else arrived?’ asked Ant, wandering back inside.

  I noticed that Massimo began to follow Ant, but was restrained by Damon, who seized him by the wrist and tugged him back into the shadowy regions of my rear garden. I hurried back into the living room Ant trailing behind me. Ahmed was sitting on the arm of the sofa with a possessive hand upon Strauss. ‘I was just becoming acquainted with Stephen’s charming young neighbour,’ Strauss defended himself.

  ‘Neighbour?’ Ant echoed, and I noticed that he and Strauss exchanged a significant ‘oh no, not again’ glance.

  That hadn’t occurred to me, but of course Nathan was a neighbour, and I do have this rather undeserved reputation of falling for my neighbours. Though after my ill-judged interest in Rick, I had sworn off the practice. I offered the champagne around by way of distraction.

  Strauss held up his glass, then put it down again, after a look from Ahmed. ‘Perhaps we ought to be getting home,’ he said unenthusiastically.

  ‘Can you drop me at Oxford Street?’ asked Ant, alert to the possibility of a shared and therefore cheap taxi.

  Strauss said a subdued goodbye to Nathan and then I walked them all out to the front door to see them off. Both Strauss and Ant assured me in whispers that the ‘no neighbours’ rule could be abandoned in the case of Nathan. ‘I don’t even know if he’s gay,’ I protested, but that only increased their enthusiasm for him.

  After they’d gone, I wondered what Damon might be up to on my newly laid lawn, but decided against investigating. I walked back into the living room, apologising to Nathan that the party had become so quiet, but then stopped mid-sentence when I saw what he was doing. He was standing by the fireplace, reading my birthday cards which were arranged on the mantelpiece above. I was horror-struck—now he knew my age. All my friends had mocked me for it in their cards. He turned, holding the card from Blair in his hand, which had been the rudest of them all. He was grinning, almost laughing, and his whole face was lit up in a way I hadn’t seen before. I was struck anew by how cute and appealing he was.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he apologised, suddenly concerned he’d overstepped. ‘But they were out on display … and this one is very funny.’

  Somehow with his sweet, earnest gaze upon me, it was impossible to say anything other than ‘of course not’. He returned the card to its place, but then he began to reach for Strauss’s card. I certainly didn’t want him reading that! The card instructed me to embrace my thirties, forget my twenties, then listed my ten most embarrassing moments from the past decade as compelling reasons why I should do so tout de suite. ‘No, no,’ I protested. ‘Let me get you that drink.’

  I darted forward to stop him, and grabbed him by the arm. The sensation of my fingers on his skin was startling, and then he turned to me, his surprised gaze meeting mine, and for a moment I felt transported, struck by his youthful beauty. Then, my nerve failed me and I pulled away.

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Nathan. ‘Don’t open the bottle. I don’t really feel like a drink.’

  I nodded, then realised this was an odd thing to say, as he’d accepted an invitation to come inside for a drink. Had it just been a pretext and what did that mean? That he liked me in that way?

  How long had it been since I’d known a moment like this? That magical moment when you feel a spark with someone and there’s that delicious tension, that frisson of desire, all bound up with feelings of hope and doubt.

  I probably hadn’t experienced it since meeting Ant in my Kings Cross apartment all those years ago. It certainly hadn’t happened with Blake. There’d been no doubt about his feelings—he’d pursued me ardently. With Alejandro, it had been instant, mutual animal lust. While over the past year, I’d mostly met guys off the internet or at the sauna, and there was scant romantic intrigue to those encounters. I’d forgotten how tantalising it could feel when so much was unknown and uncertain.

  ‘Happy birthday,’ Nathan repeated and I wondered if that was a pretext for us to fall into another embrace, one that drew out rather than broke apart.

  But I wasn’t quick enough. The moment to whisper thank you, step forward and reach for him passed. ‘Is it still your birthday?’ Nathan frowned and consulted his
watch. ‘Oh no, it’s over.’

  But it was the opportunity that was over and I was at a loss as to how to create another one. A drink might have enabled that more readily but he’d refused that option. A stroll out to the garden was off limits—Damon was probably performing fellatio out there. All I could think to do was glance at my own watch and lamely confirm that it was indeed almost twelve-fifteen. I regretted the words as soon as I’d uttered them. It was too easy now for Nathan to remark that it was late and perhaps he should be going.

  Thankfully, he didn’t. Instead, he turned back to the mantelpiece. ‘You have a lot of cards,’ he said admiringly. ‘A lot of people that care about you.’

  It was an innocent remark, perhaps with an undercurrent of flirtation—did he care for me too?—but it was the worst thing he could have said. This sweet boy was gamely making conversation, while I was being uncharacteristically reticent, but it reminded me who hadn’t sent a birthday card, who no longer cared, who had ignored me. My birthday has passed, my party was over and there were my cards lined up along the mantelpiece. There was no card amongst them from Blake.

  Only twenty minutes before, my heart had leapt at the thought, the prospect that it was Blake walking along Ridge Street towards me. I realised now why I was making such a hash of engaging with Nathan. My heart wasn’t in it, but was elsewhere, with him, the person who had allowed my birthday to go by unacknowledged, who perhaps hadn’t even remembered until my invite turned up.

  There was no birthday cake before me, no blaze of candles, but I made my wish anyway. I wished that I could get over my tangled feelings for Blake completely—and soon. Was it possible that one day we might find our way to becoming friends as Ant and I had?

  Nathan tapped me on the shoulder, interrupting my moment of reverie. ‘Hey, one of your neighbours told me you’re a celebrity, some sort of TV star.’