Date: Fri, 5 Dec 2008 01:51:26 +0100
From: Julian Obedient <julian.obedient@gmail.com>
Subject: On His Own 7

It was a night of dreamless sleep for Howard. Outside an autumn wind
blew and rustled the leaves that were left on the newly barren
branches. But he did not hear it.

He woke, momentarily disoriented, to find himself wrapped in a blanket
on the leather couch, in his study, looking up at a gray morning sky
that blurred last night's clarity, not in the bed downstairs.

And then he knew where he was and sat up and stretched his back and
went into the shower that was right off his study.

Two hours later, he was sitting behind a desk in his office reading
the memo from the new board chairman.

Donaldson brought him a cup of coffee and sat down on the leather
couch in his office facing him.  It was the companion of the couch
Howard had slept on in his study last night.

What are we going to do? Howard said snapping his finger against the
paper the memo was printed on. After a quick sip of the hot coffee,
hot the way he liked it, he felt energetic, pretty good despite
everything, quickened by the pitches of adversity that could only
glance off but never fell him.

What can we do? Donaldson echoed, say good-bye; we don't have to
tolerate an intolerable situation. We've never done programmed news or
ever had a corporate overseer on our staff.

He was quiet, determined, and serious.

Have you given any thought to independent webcasting? Howard said.

What are you pitching? Donaldson said, shaking his head in encouragment.

It was as laconic as that, the way it began. They left the network
after seventeen years without fuss or bother when World Wide Events
Enterprises took it over.

By his old network's new management, Howard's departure was covered by
a brief statement issued in response to any and all press questions,
but everywhere else it was big news, a major story, good legs.  The
web start up was swift. Fundraising was surprisingly successful.
Howard was regarded as a hero. The web broadcasts quickly drew great
numbers and became themselves sources of stories, except at WWEE.


Nick and Lucas sat across from each other at the café table on Nick's
terrace. In the amber light of the flames cast by several candles,
they gazed and gazed into each other's eyes. They were transfixed by
each other. Their mouths smiled. Joy spilled over the crystalline rims
of their eyes.

New York was good that time of year, when it was warm enough to spend
the night outside, but not hot.

You want me to move in with you? Luke said.

I do, Nick said.

But what about your whole thing with...promiscuity you called it?

What about it?

Does it mean you've changed your mind?

About what?

Being ...you know...not having...just one...

Don't struggle, Nick said, taking his wrist and kissing it.

No, it doesn't mean I've...changed my mind, as you say, Nick said. I
haven't changed anything. One love does not prevent or cancel out
another. One desire does not stifle other desires. There are many
hours in the day. The world is a big place.

But it's hard enough to make a go of it in one place, Luke said. Then
he hesitated. Then he pushed on.

He stuttered it out: I want, and then stalled.

You want to possess me, Nick said.

What's wrong with that? Luke said.

Nothing, Nick said. I already feel like I possess you.

That's just it, Luke said. I don't know if I'll ever be able to have
that feeling about you.

Why won't you? Nick asked.

Because that depends on you.

It depends on what you mean by possession, Nick said, and how you
achieve and experience it.

I'm hungry, Luke said.

Good, Nick said. Sushi?

Ok, Luke said.

There's a place that just opened on Elizabeth Street.

It is autumn and the streets are carpeted with rustling leaves that
crackle underneath their feet. There is a smell -- where is it coming
from? -- of burning wood. It is hardly chilly enough for that but Luke
imagines lovers in an old tenement apartment that still has a working
fireplace. They have come home after a day of tedious employment and
made a fire and after showering have not gotten dressed again and sit
with each other, unclothed before the fire, sharing an unwinding drink
and escaping into each other's depths, finding, in an alternative
dimension, something that keeps them going.

Nick slips his arm around Luke as they walk. Luke puts his arm around
Nick's waist. No matter what happens, there will be this moment, he
thinks.

Their interacting reveries were broken by the smashing sounds of an
automobile, a yellow taxi cab, careening onto the curb and ramming
first a mailbox and then a utility pole at the intersection ahead of
them.

Nick felt Luke's fingers like claws digging into his waist. He took
his hand and held it tight.

A crowd had quickly gathered. Nick pivoted himself and Luke. They took
a turn-off and walked slowly down a quiet and leafy side street. They
assured each other they were ok. They stopped. Luke leaned against a
brick wall and Nick leaned against him. Their hearts pressed against
each other. They breathed in each other. They tore each other apart
with savage kisses.


You aren't right, Eliot said to Robin, passing him a joint.

Why not? Robin said, looking up from the photographs he was arranging
on his laptop and taking the joint from Eliot's fingers. Eliot made a
point of making sure his fingers brushed against Robin's and lingered
an instant longer than necessary as he handed the joint to him.

In big, green letters in Baskerville Old Face the words The
Integration of Pornographic Imagery and Mainstream Culture were laid
out on the screen.

Why not? Robin repeated, laughing nervously.

Kiss me and maybe I'll tell you, Eliot said.

Robin approached him and slithered against him and then kissed him.

Eliot moved his fingers under the opening of Robin's shirt and brushed
his stiffened nipples with increasing intensity until he was pulling
on them and pressing them hard between his fingers as he bit his lips.

Now tell me, Robin drew back and said with mischief in his voice as
well as fear.

Tell you what? Eliot said.

What you were going to tell me...why I'm wrong.

Wrong about what? Eliot said.

That's what I'm waiting for you to tell me.

I honestly don't remember, Eliot said, tickling him.

It was true. He did not. It was the sort of thing, what he was going
to say, that the mind erases before it can lastingly get inscribed in
the memory, perhaps because it was ill-formulated to begin with or
broached with trepidation and half a heart.

The lost memory reconfigured itself for Eliot when Robin asked,
stroking Eliot's thick, nearly black hair, Doesn't it bother you that
Luke has moved in with Nick?

Why should it? Eliot said.

I should imagine that's for you to answer, Robin said.

I have no answer, was all the reply that Eliot could give.

The fluency of the heart, he thought, is expressed in a language that
does not always rely on words.

Although he was momentarily angry at his presumption, Eliot liked Robin.

It makes me sad, he said, taking Robin's face gently in his hands,
that you stopped talking to Nick.

Robin shrugged.

You're wrong about him, Eliot said.

That may be so, Robin said. But, I can't explain it. Perhaps he stirs
something in me that, that shouldn't be stirred.


But whatever Robin felt about Nick really did not matter, for it was
Robin who was riding in that taxi-cab that Nick and Luke saw hurl
itself into a mailbox when they went down later that night for sushi.
He was killed in that crash.

He had gone out after Eliot left, searching for a heart to touch. He
wandered, stopped in at Benny's, but...nothing. He had a scotch and
left.

He walked around some more wondering what it was he had been looking
for in Nick. He remembered how he had felt himself sucked out of
himself when he was with Nick, the way he'd lost himself that he never
would again permit.

He grew tired, and chose then to take a taxi back.


I can't handle it, Eliot said, speaking of Robin's death. I've lain in
the same arms that death lay in not much later.

Don't be melodramatic, Nick said.

How else an I handle it? Eliot said in quiet desperation.

I understand, Nick said, holding him in his arms, pressing his own
living warmth against his dazed friend.

I understand, he repeated and kissed each one of Eliot's eyelids and
then both again.

I understand. Come stay at my place for a while.

And Luke?

What about Luke?

Doesn't he have any say in it?

In what?

About me staying there.

No. I don't think so, Nick said. I don't want you to be alone seeing
how you are. We seem to have changed places, he continued. Remember
when I first arrived in New York. You took me to Robin's Christmas
party because you didn't want me to be alone. And that's where I met
Howard. Now it's my turn to take care of you. I can't do anything for
Robin.

He stopped and looked at Eliot tenderly, kissed him, and together they
walked out from under the mazing branches of leafless trees through
the gates of the cemetery at Greenwood and got into a limousine
provided by the funeral home to take them back into Manhattan.


Luke liked Eliot and there was no discord. There was something, Luke
saw, real about Eliot. He was a beauty, as beautiful as he himself and
as Nick, but he wore his beauty differently. He had subdued it, not
been overcome by it. His beauty did not radiate out of him but glowed
within him. It would outlast theirs. Eliot's beauty had extended
itself to the point of intangibility. He was something like pure
spirit.

And the spirit flows through and illuminates the body.

Luke liked Eliot's body. It was supple and graceful. His touch was
good, too, and Luke wanted to touch Eliot's lips with his own.

So he made no objection when Eliot began to stay with them.

You see, Nick said to Luke, when you follow nature things can work out
pretty gracefully.

Did I tell you I was flying to Budapest Sunday night?

For how long?

A show and a shoot. Authentic. In the street. I should be gone for
about two weeks.

Right on, Nick said, taking hold of him as he hardened and kissing him
with a consuming passion. Luke sunk into it and drew Nick in, too.
They bubbled with passion. They held each other with awful force. They
clawed at each other with hard finger ends. They transformed kisses
into bites.

By bringing Eliot in to it, they brought him out of his gloom.

Luke remembered a time before when Howard was with them. He wanted him
then, but Howard had panicked about something. He had run out in angry
panic. He was angry. He wanted something...exclusivity...power. Anything
but his idea of how things should be was unacceptable.

Eliot was not Howard. The breath of his kiss was overpowering. The
look in his eyes was reassuring. He would take care of you if he
committed to you. But right now, he needed care, and Luke felt an
intoxicating mixture of tenderness and lust.


Come in, Howard, Nick said. I'm glad you could come. It's good to see you.

How are you? Howard said. I'd rather we had met again under brighter
circumstances.

Yes, Nick said. I'm ok.

Luke, Howard said, extending a hand to shake.

Luke took it, smiled, and returned his greeting a little shyly.

How was Budapest?

It was good, Luke said.

Eliot came in and they shook hands. He unwrapped a scarf from round
his neck and hung up his brown bomber jacket.

Howard looked at him admiringly, his tight jeans, his hard flat belly,
his boots.

You're taking it hard? Howard said, placing his palm on Eliot's
shoulder and squeezing it.

I'm ok, Eliot said. I've been following your career. It's great.

That's in large part because of what you've been saying about me in
the magazine and the pictures you've printed, Howard said. Thanks.

It was mostly Robin, Eliot said.

I know, Howard said solemnly.

Do you know what's going on at WWEE? Eliot said, letting go of his hand.

They'll never get the bailout. It will be a good thing for democracy
when they crash, Howard said.


When the crowd that had come for Robin's wake left, Howard was still
talking to Eliot.

Nick and Luke were beat but cleaning up, gathering the empty champagne
bottles, the dirty glasses, the oyster shells, and the wet plates upon
which they lay spattered.

[When you write, please put story name in subject slot. Thanks]