Date: Sun, 16 Nov 2008 21:10:58 +0000 (GMT)
From: Nexis Pas <nexispas@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: The GIft

The Gift

Nexis Pas
Copyright 2008 by the author
Nexis Pas asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

`There's a package for you, Mr Bryant.'

James sighed as the resident manager of the building lifted a large box
from beneath his counter. James recognized it as a gift from Taz
immediately. This was the first one in three or four months. He thought Taz
had finally become discouraged and stopped sending him presents. `Thank
you, Henry.'

`Couldn't help but notice it's from Fern's Unlimited, Mr Bryant. The wife
likes her programme on the telly. Doesn't miss a show.'

`I've never watched it, Henry. The package is from a friend. He thinks my
flat needs more colour.'

Henry composed his face into the blank look that was his way of indicating
that he disapproved of this or that aspect of a flat owner's life. In this
case, he was trying to hide his dislike of James's life and friends--his
gay life and his gay friends. James tossed his mail atop the box and picked
it up. Even though James's hands were full and he had to balance the box
carefully to avoid spilling his letters on the floor, he had to press the
elevator button for himself. Henry could have reached the button in one
step, but he suddenly found a spot on the floor that required his
attention. As the door to the elevator closed, James made a mental note to
himself to raise the issue of Henry's continued employment at the next
owners' meeting. More than a third of the tenants are gay, thought James,
and we don't need an employee who thinks we're sinners.

All of which, James knew, was just a way of delaying thinking about the box
and who had sent it. Another gift from Taz. Another demand for attention
that James did not want to supply. Another attempt to make a claim on James
that James had no intention of acknowledging.

He set the box on the table in the hallway and then dropped his mail on a
chair in the living room. He changed out of his suit, poured himself a
generous glass of wine, and then sat down on the sofa to look through his
mail. He sorted out the bills and the junk mail and stacked them into
separate piles. His mother's letter occupied his attention for two
minutes. He quickly scanned her weekly report on the weather and his
sister's family. Once she had mistakenly sent him the letter destined for
his sister, and he had discovered to his amusement that it contained the
same news about the weather and a report on his activities. She had
summarised the contents of the letter he had written her the week
before. He surmised that the information on his sister derived from a
letter she had written their mother. There was a postcard from Oliver and
Lucas. They were enjoying their holiday in Italy. Florence was
stupendous. They were eating too much, but the food was too good to
resist--and the waiters were so handsome one had to eat more to make them
return again and again. James stood up and carried the mail to his desk. He
tore the envelopes with the junk mail in half and threw them away. The
bills went into the cubbyhole reserved for them. He set his mother's letter
and the postcard on the desk. He would reread them later.

He knew that he was avoiding the box on the hall table. While he was
standing there, a thought occurred to him. He pulled open the centre drawer
and found a black marking pen. He crossed into the hall and wrote `RETURN
TO SENDER' in thick letters on top of the box and then circled the address
for Fern's Unlimited and drew three arrows pointing at it. He would leave
the box with Henry tomorrow morning as he left for work. He recapped the
pen and regarded his handiwork with satisfaction. He wished he had thought
of that sooner. Better to return these unwanted objects than stack them in
the hall closet. He would take Taz's other gifts down to his car this
Saturday when he went out to do the weekly shopping and leave them at the
charity donations shop on Bow Street.

The first time they met, James had been by himself at Capers watching the
dancers. One of them in particular attracted his attention. In the dim
light, he looked barely old enough to be allowed in the pub. He was a cute
boy, dark-haired, short, nice smile. He had on a trilby hat, so old that
the brim was ragged and the crown crushed on one side. He wore a tie around
his neck and a waistcoat from a suit over his bare chest. The waistcoat was
unbuttoned, and it and the tie swung with every move he made. The couple in
front of James moved out of the way, and James stepped forward till he was
at the edge of the dance floor. The boy was a much better dancer than
average.

The boy was dancing alone, circling the outer edge of the dance floor. As
he danced, he mouthed the words to the song being played. When he passed
James, he looked up and saw James watching him. He smiled and then reached
out and pulled James onto to the dance floor with both hands. He lifted
James's arms and put James's hands behind his neck so that James was
grasping him by the back of his neck. `Hi, I'm . . .' The boy apparently
said his name, but just at that moment the music jumped in volume and
drowned him out.

James bent over slightly and said, `I'm James,' in the lad's ear. In answer
he found himself grasped securely around the waist and a very lithe firm
young body pressed up against him. He felt the boy's hot breath through the
fabric of his shirt as he sang along with the record, `No matter what they
tell us,' in a falsetto voice. Now that they were closer, James could see
that the boy was a few years older than he had thought—closer to
twenty-five than to eighteen. His height and his looks were
deceptive. Still, James found it hard to think of him as anything other
than a boy.

After they had danced a few more numbers, James asked the boy if he wanted
to go back to his flat. He didn't often do that. That night lust overcame
his usual scruples about inviting a stranger into his flat. The boy laughed
with delight. He pulled James over to a table, grabbed a leather jacket off
the back of a chair, squeezed the shoulder of one of the men sitting at the
table, and then drew James outside. The two of them almost sprinted to
James's building.

When James unlocked the door, he showed the boy into his living room and
asked if he wanted a glass of wine. `All I have' he explained. The boy
shook his head. He took off his jacket and lay it over the back of one of
the chairs. That was the first thing he did that irritated James. He didn't
like the casual way the black jacket intruded into his life. James picked
up the jacket and went back into the entrance hallway to hang it in the
closet. When he returned, he found the boy examining the room. He didn't
bother to hide his curiosity. He walked about touching the furniture and
lifting things to take a closer look at them. James got the sense that the
room somehow disappointed him.

The boy drew a finger along the spines of James's CD collection. He seemed
to find nothing he liked. `You're not a fan of recent music then?' James
shook his head no. The boy's accent grated on his nerves. Irish, James
thought, he could be Irish with those looks. Ah, well, a sexy body was a
sexy body. It wasn't as if he were going to have an intellectual discussion
with the boy.

James was beginning to find the boy's presence invasive. He decided that
they should proceed to the main business and then he would find some excuse
to get rid of the boy as soon as they had finished. The boy had other
plans, however. He was in no hurry, and he proved to be so good in bed that
James felt no need to hurry matters along either. They had fallen asleep in
a tangle of sheets and limbs.

James awoke the next morning to the sound of the water in the shower
striking a body. The volume and the quality of the sound varied as the boy
turned about. It irritated him further that the boy hadn't even asked
permission. Shortly the water was turned off and then a few minutes later
the boy emerged from the bathroom patting his hair dry with one of James's
towels. `We overslept. I've got a meeting in half an hour. I'm sorry, but I
have to leave right away. Then I'm back to London. I wrote my mobile number
down for you.' The boy pointed to the pad beside the bedroom phone. `I
don't get to Brighton often, but give me a call if you're going to be in
London. Maybe we can get together.'

James picked the pad up. It contained only the single word `Taz' and the
phone number. `Is that your name? Taz? I couldn't hear it last night when
you said it.'

`You don't know who I am, do you?' The boy's face lit up with a
smile. `That's wonderful.'

`Should I know you?'

`No. It's great that you don't. I don't often get that kind of privacy.'
The boy babbled happily on as he pulled on his clothes. He reminded James
of some pet bird chirping in the morning. When he was dressed, he walked
over to James and gave him a final hug. `I'll get my coat and let myself
out.' Then he was gone. A few seconds later James heard the door to his
flat open and close.

James walked into the hallway and turned the deadbolt to lock it. On the
way back to the bedroom, he checked the living room to make sure that
everything was there. The pillow on the sofa lay flat on the middle
cushion. At one point while they had chatted briefly the previous evening,
Taz has picked it up and held it against his stomach, kneading it. James
patted it back into shape and then placed it back in its proper place in
the left corner.

The bathroom was still steamy from Taz's shower. He turned the exhaust fan
on and spread the towel Taz has used out on the rack to dry. It annoyed him
that he couldn't put it in the dirty clothes hamper immediately and thus
remove all reminders to Taz's presence. There were a couple of black hairs
stuck to the soap in the bath. He picked the dish holding the soap up by
its base and tilted the soap into the waste basket in the bathroom and then
unwrapped a fresh bar and replaced it.

The bedroom still held the faint odour of sex. James pulled the sheets off
the bed and stuffed them into the washing machine off the kitchen. He
consulted the back panel on the box of detergent and added the maximum
amount recommended for `heavily soiled items'. It took him only a few
minutes to remove all traces of Taz from his flat. He ended by tearing the
sheet of paper with Taz's number off the pad and ripping it into several
pieces before throwing it away.

His reaction wasn't unusual for him after one of his occasional visits to a
gay pub. He often felt revulsion toward a partner after sex. He hated to be
reminded of his `physical' needs, and the ruttishness that overcame him
sometimes. He wished there were some way to satisfy these needs without
lowering himself to picking someone up in a bar.

He found, however, that it was easier to erase Taz from his flat than from
his life. The first indication came later that day when Andrew rang him. `I
hear you got very lucky last night and took home the prize.' James could
almost hear the smirk in Andrew's voice. `You must come round and tell us
all about Taz. You'll be able to dine out on that story for months.'

`Who? What are you talking about, Andrew?'

`Taz.'

`Who is Taz?'

`Taz. The man you were dancing with last night. The man you left Capers
with. Everyone is quite jealous about your conquest. Didn't you recognise
him? Oh, this is delicious. You don't know, do you? He's the lead singer in
the Ballymun Lads. That's a famous boy band, in case you didn't know. Were
you in such a hurry that you didn't exchange names or information about
each other? I wouldn't have thought you such a slut, James. This is a new
side of you. Your reputation increased immeasurably last night after being
seen with him. The man who bedded Taz. Everyone will want to touch you
now.' Andrew laughed gleefully. James had the feeling that many others
would soon be laughing at his expense. He rang off as soon as he could.

The next reminder of Taz came several days later. A large package was
waiting for him when he arrived home. Inside, within a thick casing of
moulded Styrofoam was another box. When he opened that, he found a bright
red glass vase. He set it on the table in the living room, and it
immediately caught all the light and covered the walls and furniture with
blotches of red light. James had carefully chosen all the furnishings in
the room in consultation with a designer. The muted shades of taupe and
ecru and oatmeal suited his tastes. The only touches of colour were the
painting over the fireplace, which was done in shades of blue, and the pale
blue pillow on the sofa, which had been intended to compliment the colours
in the painting. The vase was so jarring that it was if someone had tossed
a can of red paint into the room. To James's mind, it was lurid and
ostentatious.

It wasn't until he was clearing away the wrappings that he found the
card. `The other night was more important to me than you can imagine. It
taught me something about myself that I should have learned a long time
before. With gratitude and love, Taz. PS. The vase is from Venice. I bought
it the last time the band toured Europe.'

The `love' and the presumptuousness of the gift galled James. The casual
reference to the band touring Europe also betrayed Taz's assumption that he
had made an effort to find out who Taz was. The fact that Taz was right
irked him even more. After speaking with Andrew, he had searched for the
band on the Internet and read the article on them in Wikipedia. He had even
watched one of their videos on YouTube. As he expected from the apparent
number of copies of their music that had been sold, he found the music
insipid and uninteresting.

He tossed the card away and repacked the vase. The box was set at the back
of the hall closet. Taz called that night wanting to know if he had
received the gift. It wasn't until the phone rang and he heard Taz's voice
that he realised that Taz had not only sought out his full name and address
but his phone number as well. He thanked Taz perfunctorily and then cut
short Taz's enquiries about his activities since the night they had been
together with the excuse that he would be late for a meeting if they talked
further.

The vase was only the first of many gifts to arrive over the next two
weeks. Each was followed by a phone call in which Taz tried to interest
James in his life. After the third gift, James stopped answering the phone
and began screening the calls through his answering machine. He felt as if
he were being stalked, his own nightmarish version of a celebrity stalker.
Taz took to leaving messages on his answering machine at odd hours. After
one such call, James waited to call the number Taz left until he knew from
the list of concerts dates and times on the Ballymun Lads' website that Taz
and his group were performing. He hoped that he would reach Taz's
voicemail. If anyone answered, he planned to pretend it was a wrong number.
He had rehearsed the message he wanted to leave. `Taz, thank you for all
the gifts. But really I can't accept any more. I'm sorry, but I don't have
any interest in a relationship.'

The message had the desired effect. The gifts and the calls stopped. James
was both relieved and a bit disappointed. They had been an annoyance, and
he was glad that he had discouraged Taz. Still, it was almost flattering to
be desired by someone who, if the stories in the papers were correct, was
thought desirable by millions, even if most of them were prepubescent girls
and young teens. He had to admit that he could understand Taz's attractions
after he had watched a video in which the camera had lingered on his
face. After a few listens, he found himself humming the song. It was a
catchy tune, although the lyrics were saccharine and puerile. But, he told
himself, he was better off out of it. He had been wise to break it off
before anything serious started. The YouTube video of the Late Late Show
interview with Taz had made the young man's intellectual and social
limitations clear. Well, what could you expect from a boy from a Dublin
council estate?

James even made the encounter into an amusing anecdote--his evening with
someone he discovered only later to be a famous person. The
self-deprecating humour with which he revealed his utter ignorance of
popular music sounded perfect to his ears. He was even careful not to tell
the story too often, lest he be thought to be boasting of his
conquest. Only three selected groups of different people got to hear it
firsthand. He knew his auditors well enough to trust them to spread the
word.

The morning after receiving the last gift, he handed it back to Henry with
instructions to give it to the parcel delivery man on his next appearance.
That Saturday he removed the other boxes of gifts from the hall closet and
left them with the woman in the charity resale shop on the way to the
market.  He warned her that the red vase was Venetian glass and `might be'
quite valuable. He didn't tell her that it was a gift from Taz, which
would, he imagined, have increased its resale value considerably. He
thought it commendable of himself not to boast of the relationship.

He almost missed the announcement. It came at the end of the news. The
reader with the curly blond hair--James could never remember her
name--beamed at the camera in the way that indicated that the next story
would be light-hearted. `Four hundred lucky people received a present this
week and an invitation to what promises to be one of the most spectacular
events of this year. Taz, the lead singer of the Ballymun Lads and the
heart throb of teenage girls everywhere, and his long-time companion
Patrick Door announced their upcoming civil union ceremony by sending a
crystal sculpture specially designed by their good friend Fern Holmes to
four hundred of their friends along with an invitation to attend the
ceremony.'

The screen briefly showed an irregularly shaped slab of crystal with a
faint mist of opaque glass in the middle. The image then shifted to a
street scene. Taz and another young man stood with their arms around each
other's waists. Both were smiling and laughing. `Well,' said Taz, `we
decided that after four years we knew each other well enough to know that
we wanted to make our commitment formal.'

The man interviewing them pointed the microphone toward himself. `Earlier
this year there were rumours that the two of you had separated.'

The young man with Taz shrugged and looked serious for a second. `Yeah, we
went through a bit of a rough patch. We both dated other people for a week
or so, but then we talked it over and found that nobody else came close to
meaning as much to us. We know what's important now.'

James snapped the television off just as Taz looked up and smiled radiantly
at his partner. His look of adoration lingered for a second on the screen
and then abruptly disappeared, leaving only the reflection of James's face.