Serenading Stanley (15 page)

It was seven o’clock. Showtime. He had other things than his pink-haired, crazy-ass mother to focus his terror on now.

T
HE
hamburgers were delicious. Fat and juicy. Stanley was on his third one. Roger was still on his second.

Roger appeared properly impressed. “For a little guy, you sure can eat.”

They were sitting across from each other at Roger’s brand-new dining room table. Stanley was surprised to realize Roger had a view of the very same tree he did. But not the nesting hawks. They were a little higher up in the branches. One floor up, to be exact. That realization gave Stanley his first twinge of superiority. He kind of liked knowing he had something Roger Jane didn’t. How shallow was that?

Stanley gulped down another mouthful of ground round before answering. “That’s what my mother always said. For a little guy, I sure can eat. Of course, she used a few more adjectives. My mother is the queen of descriptive phrasing.”

Roger smiled. “She sounds like a hoot.”

Stanley didn’t smile back. “Then you deal with her.”

At that, Roger laughed. He settled in a little more comfortably, elbows on the table, chin in his hand, and watched with admiration as Stanley pounded down the food. “French fries okay?” he asked, already knowing the answer since most of them had vanished.

Again, Stanley gulped. “Great. Nice and crunchy. And they’re not even frozen. They’re real.”

“Nothing but the best for my Stanley.” And as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Roger blushed.
Oops,
he thought.
Probably shouldn’t have said that.

Stanley seemed a little perplexed by the statement, but he didn’t pursue it. Some things are better left to die on their own. And if Roger did mean anything by it, Stanley wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it was.

To change the subject, Stanley peered over his hamburger to gaze around the kitchen. “Where’s the watermelon?”

Roger squirmed around in his chair looking guilty. “I set it free.”

“You mean you ate it?”

“Call it what you will.”

“You mean you ate
all of it?”

“Well… yeah.”

“And after you named it Frank too.”

“I know,” Roger said. “I’m a terrible person.”

And before Stanley could stop himself, he asked, “Ever been in a relationship?”

If the subject surprised Roger, he didn’t let it show. “Uh-oh. A shift in the conversation. All hell’s about to break loose. Okay, then. Yes, I was in a relationship. Once. You?”

“No. So what happened?”

Roger shrugged. “He moved on to someone else.”

Stanley stopped chewing. “You mean to tell me somebody actually left you for another man?”

“Afraid so. Why? Does it seem unlikely? Happens all the time, Stanley.”

Stanley laid his hamburger down and licked a glob of ketchup off his thumb. “Yeah, but, we’re talking about
you.
Jesus. Who’d he go after? Prince Harry?”

Roger chose to ignore that. “I can’t believe you’ve never had a lover, Stanley. You’re the sweetest guy I’ve ever met. Men should be falling all over themselves to get to you.”

Stanley could feel his cheeks burning, but he wasn’t immune to flattery. He enjoyed hearing the things Roger said, although he didn’t believe them for a minute. He was determined to talk about Roger, not himself. “How long were you together? You and dumbass.”

Roger straightened his shoulders, as if readying himself for an onslaught of questions. If answering them bothered him, he certainly didn’t let it show. “Two years, give or take.”

“What was his name?”

“Gerald.”

“Was he as handsome as you?”

Roger’s blush deepened a little more. That was a question he obviously didn’t like. “He was good-looking. For a slut.”

“Cheated, huh?”

“Constantly, although I never found out about it until he was gone. Only then did my friends hit me with the news. Some friends.”

“You mean Sylvia and ChiChi and Ramon and…?”

“No. This is before I lived at the Belladonna Arms. Different friends altogether. The friends I have here wouldn’t have let—
dumbass
—get away with it.” Following a beat of afterthought, he added, “I like calling him dumbass. That’s probably how I’ll think of him from now on. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

There was a lull in the conversation, while Roger scrutinized Stanley as if he suddenly realized something was different. Then he reached across the table and brushed his hand over Stanley’s soft, soft hair. Even the cowlicks were soft. “You left off the goop! Good for you. Looks tons better.”

“Thanks. So did you love him?”

Roger hunkered over his unfinished burger with a resigned expression. “I’m really going to pay for eating that watermelon, aren’t I? Okay. Yes, I loved him. I thought we were good together. He apparently was a little less enamored of the relationship than I was. When he left, he didn’t even tell me he was going. I came home from school and his stuff was gone. Just like that.”

“That’s cold,” Stanley said, studying Roger’s face, wondering what the man was
really
thinking.

“Yes,” Roger said. “It was. Cold and hurtful.”

Finally Roger decided it was time to take the conversational reins. Why should he be the only one getting the third degree? Tit for tat, and all that. Plus, he had some questions for Stanley he would really like to hear the answers to.

“You and I are kind of polar opposites, Stanley. Realize that? I mean, in our choice of careers. You choose to work with the dead, and the
long
dead, I might add. While I ply my trade on the living. Why do you suppose that is?”

Stanley didn’t hesitate for a heartbeat. “You’re a better person than me.”

The answer stunned Roger. There was a lot hiding in those six little words. And he wasn’t sure he liked what they implied. He was getting a little tired of Stanley Sternbaum tearing himself down. “No, Stanley. That’s not true at all. I think it’s because you’re more cerebral than I am. You look for the meaning of things. I just try to treat their symptoms.”

“Maybe, but….”

Finally!
Roger thought.
He’s going to talk about himself.

“But what?” Roger asked, gently, afraid of scaring Stanley off. It was rather like luring a frightened stray dog within reach. Trying to snap a leash on. Trying to make him stop running. Trying to be a friend.

Stanley’s burger was gone now. He was pecking his way through the few french fries he had left, dragging them through a puddle of ketchup before poking them in his mouth. Roger loved watching Stanley eat. He ate the way he should have been living his life: without any sense of timidity. He ate like it was something he had control over. Maybe one of the
few
things he had control over. And one of the few things he seemed to really enjoy doing without feeling—

And suddenly Roger knew why Stanley chose archeology as a major. He knew it beyond any doubt whatsoever.

He snapped his fingers and said, “It’s because you’re shy, isn’t it? It explains everything about you. Your field of study, the way you lead your life, the way being alone doesn’t seem to bother you at all.”

Stanley gave Roger a leery look. Suddenly, his lips were thin, pale lines gashing across his face. “And how do I lead my life? Enlighten me. And how do you know how I feel about being alone?”

Roger was taken aback by the reaction he’d caused. He’d gone too far. Shit.

“I just mean that your shyness kind of rules you every single day, don’t you think?”

There was hurt in Stanley’s eyes, now, but there was a pretty good glare of anger smoldering there as well. “Is it that obvious?”

Roger wished he had never broached the subject of Stanley’s shyness. “I’m sorry. I just… thought we were getting to know each other. Baring our souls a little bit. If you don’t want to, we can talk about something else.”

Stanley sat frozen, considering what Roger had said. Finally, he expelled a little burst of air. Like a teakettle. He felt better after that. Calmer. And Roger was right. If he was brave enough to open up about himself, Stanley should too. It was only fair. Although for the life of him, Stanley could not understand why Roger would be interested.

“Okay. Yes. I’m shy. And yes, it rules every little thing I do. It holds me back, and I’ve yet to find a way around that. So I deal with it. That’s what I do. Every minute of every day. I deal with it. But it’s not the end of the world, you know. A whole lot of people deal with worse things than shyness. Way worse. Illness. Pain. Loss. You name it. There’s a shitload of miseries out there just waiting to latch onto people. If shyness is the worst thing that’s got hold of me, I figure I’m lucky.”

Roger reached across the table and laid his hand over Stanley’s.

But Stanley wasn’t finished talking yet. He stared at their two hands resting one atop the other while he found the words he wanted to say. He liked the feel of Roger’s hand covering his. It was comforting. It helped him think. “You’re right, you know. I had pretty much arrived at the same conclusion you did about why I chose archeology. Why I
chose
it, mind you. Not why I continue to pursue it. I continue to pursue it because I love it. I really do.”

Roger stroked the back of Stanley’s hand with his fingertips. Softly, he said, “I never meant to imply you didn’t.”

And at that, thank God, Stanley smiled a forgiving smile. “I know you didn’t. I guess I just can’t understand why someone like you would find anything about me interesting.”

“You’re kidding.” Roger was so amazed by
that
statement, he released Stanley’s hand and plopped back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest and just stared at him. “Why in God’s name would you think something like that? Why do you doubt yourself, Stanley? Huh? Why?”

“I need one of ChiChi’s brownies,” Stanley said, looking everywhere but at Roger’s face.

Roger gave him a deprecating little grin. “No, you don’t. I’ve seen you stoned. It ain’t pretty. Would you like a beer?”

“Sure,” Stanley said. A blush suddenly colored his ears when he thought about waking up alone on the couch in the other room. But that was last night. It was a different ballgame now. Or was it? Did he even want it to be?

Roger jumped up and plucked two beers from the fridge, twisting off the caps as he brought them back to the table.

After they both took a drink, Roger tried again.

“Talk to me, Stanley. Please.”

Stanley sipped at his beer until half of it was gone. Then he carefully placed the bottle on the table. As soon as he released it, Roger again snaked his hand across the table and laid it over Stanley’s. Stanley’s fingertips were cold now from the bottle. Roger enjoyed the way they felt resting in his hand.

“You scare me,” Stanley said.

“I already know that,” Roger said, wishing he could kiss that look of trepidation off Stanley’s face, but he knew he couldn’t. That would be a
big
mistake. Stanley was just starting to trust him again. “But
why? Why
do I scare you?
”

Stanley decided to let some truths out. Just let them go. Roger deserved that much. “I’ve never been around anyone like you before. You… frighten me.”

“I know I do, Stanley. You already told me that. But I don’t understand why.”

“Don’t you ever look in a mirror?”

Roger gave a tiny shrug. “Sure. What does that have to do with anything?”

Stanley took another long pull from his beer. He left his other hand right where it was, safely snuggled in Roger’s grip. Again, he looked at their two hands as he spoke. “I’m afraid of what you can do to me when you sit there looking like you do.”

“What can I do to you, Stanley? And what does the way I look have to do with it?”

“Can I have another beer?”

Roger huffed his impatience, dropped Stanley’s hand long enough to grab the six-pack from the fridge and bring the whole thing back to the table with him, banging it down between them. They both took another beer, and as soon as they had tasted it, Roger once again slipped his hand over Stanley’s.

“Now talk,” he said. “What can I do to you? And I can’t help the way I look, you know.”

Stanley seemed to think the words needed to be said. He’d probably regret it tomorrow, but what
didn’t
he regret tomorrow? “I know. But just by looking the way you do and being so damn nice all the time, you can make me fall in love with you.”

“Want me to be mean instead?”

Stanley smiled. “No.”

Roger tilted his head and studied Stanley’s elfin face. Stanley was staring at his beer bottle, picking at the label with his fingernail. The french fries were gone, or he would have been eating those as a way to center his attention elsewhere. Roger could tell he already regretted speaking the words.

Gently, Roger asked, “Would that be so bad? If you fell in love a little bit?”

Stanley closed his eyes, shutting Roger out. He sat like that until Roger tapped his finger on the back of Stanley’s hand. “Look at me, Stanley. Tell me why falling in love would be so bad.”