Serenading Stanley (20 page)

And this time when Roger smiled, the smile reached his eyes. In fact, his whole face lit up.

“Like you want me. You look at me like you want me, Stanley. It’s the same way I look at you, if you’d only notice.”

“You could do so much better.”

Roger scowled, not liking Stanley’s answer. “I don’t want better. I want you. And I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“But we’re so different,” Stanley stammered. “Our looks, our jobs. Our looks.”

“You already said that.”

Stanley groaned. “Well, it’s important.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s only important to you. I wish you could see you the way I see you, Stanley. I want you so much right now I hurt all over. It’s like I’m coming down with the flu. Even my toenails fucking ache.”

He took Stanley’s hand and laid it in his lap.
Pressed
it to his lap. And to the hard-on residing there.

Stanley’s eyes opened wide. “You—you’re aroused.”

“I’ve been aroused since the day I met you. I want to be with you, Stanley. And soon. Otherwise I’m going to explode.”

“You’re out of my league.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re just slumming.”

“Don’t ever say that again.”

“What if I fall in love with you?”

“Then we’ll both be in the same boat.”

Stanley squeezed his eyes shut as he listened to the rumble of a city bus going by somewhere off in the distance. He let the evening breeze brush across his face, but it didn’t cool him now. His heat, his
torment,
was too deep inside for the breeze to reach. He sensed the tenseness of the man beside him. He could feel it even in the darkness behind his eyelids. Roger was waiting for an answer.

Stanley opened his eyes. At that very moment the streetlights went on up and down the boulevard. It was getting dark. He forced himself to look at Roger’s face. In the softer light, Roger was truly breathtaking. He was also starting to look a little pissed off. Stanley supposed he couldn’t blame him. Stanley finally found his voice. “That last thing you said. That we’ll both be in the same boat. Does that mean—?”

“Yes,” Roger said. “That’s exactly what it means. My God, you’re dense.”

“Are you telling me you love me?” The words sounded alien in Stanley’s mouth. He didn’t even want to know how they sounded in Roger’s ears.

But Roger was grinning. Apparently to him, the words didn’t sound alien at all. In fact, he looked like he kind of enjoyed hearing Stanley say them. At least, he didn’t look mad anymore.

“If I tell you I love you, will it scare you away?”

“N-no,” Stanley said.

“Then I love you.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Please kiss me.”

“Here?”

“Yes. Here.”

And with his heart doing flip-flops, Stanley leaned in, laying his hand on Roger’s thigh because there was nowhere else to put it.

“You’re shaking,” Roger whispered, and a moment later his lips touched Stanley’s, ever so gently. They held the kiss for a scatter of heartbeats. The moment Stanley closed his eyes and began to relax in his arms, Roger pulled away.

Roger’s words were almost lost in the racket of the mockingbird overhead. Somewhere in the gathering shadows inside the pepper tree’s branches, the bird was chattering up a storm. Really going apeshit. “Does that kiss mean what I think it means, Stanley?”

Stanley had to clear his throat a couple of times to get the words out. “What do you
think
it means?”

“It means you’ll give me a chance.”

“Yes,” Stanley said. “I’ll give you a chance. I guess.”

“Thank you.”

And Stanley could only stare, amazed, at the sheen of tears that suddenly glittered in Roger’s heavenly green eyes. It was the same sparkle of tears he was pretty sure could be seen in his own eyes.

“I’ve pushed enough,” Roger said, looking shy, almost embarrassed. “Let me know when you make up your mind completely.”

Stanley nodded, all business, because he didn’t know how else to act. “I will.”

“And don’t just forget about me.”

“No. I won’t.”

“And don’t tiptoe up the stairs anymore. I really, really hate it when you tiptoe up the stairs.”

“Okay. I promise.”

Roger gave Stanley’s knee a pat, which lingered just a little too long to be brotherly, did a bit of embarrassed adjusting to the way his trousers were crimping the bulge in his crotch, then stood and walked away.

“I’ll be inside,” Roger said over his shoulder. “Sitting with Pete and Arthur. Join us when you want.”

Stanley only nodded as he watched Roger walk away.

The mockingbird was really going nuts now, singing his fool head off. Stanley wondered if maybe the bird in the pepper tree knew something he didn’t.

A
DAY
passed. Then two. Roger was working long shifts at the hospital while Stanley had classes in the mornings. He also had fieldwork for two afternoons and evenings on a Kumeyaay Indian dig in the desert thirty miles out of town for extra credit. Stanley was ecstatic to have a bunch of dead Indians to piddle around with. It at least gave him time to think about the Roger problem without having to worry about actually running
into
the Roger problem face-to-face.

If it
was
a problem. God help him, he was beginning to wonder if it really was. Had he let everything be blown out of proportion because of his insecurities? If so, he knew perfectly well it wasn’t the first time he had let that happen.

In the end, it took a second opinion and a head-on encounter with Roger Jane himself to make Stanley finally reach a decision.

The second opinion came first, and it came from Sylvia.

Stanley stood at the door to her hospital room with a spray of red carnations arranged in a bone china vase he had picked up in the gift shop downstairs. He was nervous. He deplored hospitals. The last time he had spent time in one was during the weeks leading up to his father’s death. Stanley had hated hospitals ever since.

He also hated wasting money, and he knew he’d done exactly that when he saw how many flowers Sylvia had already received. They were perched on every surface imaginable in an explosion of colors. Even the windowsills were covered. And they were more expensive flowers than carnations too. Roses. Lilacs. Even the vases were nicer. One delicate pink orchid in a copper pot stood alone on the nightstand beside Sylvia’s bed as if knowing it was more special than all the rest. The air was as sweet as chocolate with mingled flowery scents.

Sylvia lay on her side in the bed, her knees tucked almost all the way up to her chin. Her cheek rested on the palm of her hand as she stared out the window. Her hair hung limp but clean around her melancholy face. There was no wave to it like there usually was, probably because it had been pressed flat from her lying in bed all day. Without makeup, her eyes were huge and sad staring out from her still-pale face.

Those eyes came to life when she saw Stanley standing in the doorway. She sat up in bed and gave him an uneasy smile, all the while ruffling her hair as if she knew it wasn’t looking its best.

She reached out for Stanley to come kiss her, and he did, softly grazing her cheek with his lips.

“I love carnations,” she said, eyeing the arrangement shyly.

And Stanley smiled. “Well, that’s fortuitous since these are for you.”

Sylvia took the flowers and sat them on the nightstand, pushing the orchid out of the way to do it, rather like the Queen of England being shuffled aside to make room for a street urchin.

“They’re beautiful,” she said, patting the bed beside her. “Thank you. Now sit and talk to me.”

Stanley sat. Sylvia arranged her pillow behind her back to make herself more comfortable. Stanley watched a flush rise to her cheeks as he tried to make his expression as chipper as he could. He reached out and took her hand.

“How do you feel?”

The sadness returned to her eyes. “Embarrassed. I shouldn’t have done what I did. I’m sorry.”

“Good,” Stanley said, caressing her fingers. “Then that means you won’t do it again.”

“No. I won’t do it again.”

Stanley forced himself to look away from Sylvia’s face. There was enough shame there already. He didn’t want to make her feel worse.

“Wow,” he said, looking around, striving to be cheerful when what he really wanted to do was cry. Sylvia appeared so sad and lost. “Who sent you all these flowers?”

Sylvia followed where Stanley was looking. She brushed a tear away and forced another smile to her lips. “You’re not going to believe me when I tell you, but… I don’t know who sent them. Well, I mean, that one there”—she indicated a dozen yellow roses—“those came from Arthur. And those red ones over there are from Roger. And your carnations. But the others are a mystery. They came without cards.”

In the cardless category, Stanley counted more than a dozen arrangements, every one more beautiful than the next. There were even a couple of teddy bears sitting in a chair in the corner. One held a balloon which read “Get Well Soon,” and the other was bedecked with a cluster of ribbons and tinsel and red paper hearts around its neck. Somehow the sight of the two bears made Stanley’s face break out in a grin. He suddenly knew beyond all doubt who had sent the flowers. And the bears too. It had to be.

Even before he spoke the words, Stanley wondered if he really should. Then he thought,
Yes, she needs to know. She
has
to know.
“I think I might have an inkling as to who your mystery well-wisher is.” He muttered the words with a playful, secretive glint in his eye.

Sylvia perked up at that. She had obviously been trying to figure it out herself. And she did so love a mystery. Although, perhaps not this particular mystery. “You do? Who?”

“Your downstairs neighbor?”

Sylvia looked puzzled. “Which one? I have a dozen downstairs neighbors.”

Stanley shook his head. “No. The downstairs neighbor
directly beneath you.
”

It took Sylvia a moment to figure out who that would be. When she did, she slapped Stanley’s arm. “Oh, don’t be silly. That’s Mr. Ingersol, the accountant.”

Stanley tilted his head to the side and studied Sylvia’s face. “He’s also the person who raised the alarm and rang for the paramedics. Didn’t you know that?”

“No. No one told me.” She looked confused. “Are you sure?”

Stanley reached out and took her hand. “Hell, yes, I’m sure. I was
there.
He’s the one who saved your life, Syl. He’s the one who dragged me and Roger down to your apartment. Well, he dragged Roger. I just sort of tagged along. He was scared to death. You should have seen him. He’s a really nice guy, just in case, you know, you were ever interested in meeting a really nice guy.”

Sylvia stared silently at Stanley’s open, elfin face. “What are you doing, Stanley? Are you matchmaking?”

Stanley shrugged. “I think on poor Mr. Ingersol’s part, the match has already been made. And just to thank him for saving your life, maybe you should give the man a chance. That’s all I’m saying. I’m not trying to pressure you.”

Sylvia laughed. “Oh, no, not much. But
Ingersol.
He’s so shy. And he’s straight, isn’t he?”

Stanley gave her an over-the-top shrug and gazed innocently out the window. “He’s straight and you’re a woman. Or you soon will be. What’s the problem?” He continued to stare through the window to give Sylvia a little privacy to think things over. “I’ve said enough. I’ll say no more. Except his name is Pete.”

“Pete,” she said thoughtfully. “Pete.”

“Your party’s coming up in a few days. You have to get well for that. And you have to find a date too. I’ll bet Pete’s available.”

Sylvia covered her face with her hands. “Oh, God, the party! I couldn’t possibly face all those people after this. I was freakish enough before. Now it’ll be worse. Arthur has to cancel it.”

Stanley tsked. “You know better than that. Nobody has worked harder to get this party rolling than Arthur. He’s a little in love with you himself, I think.”

Sylvia gave a thoughtful nod. “I know he is. He told me so. Poor man. He’s so sweet. And the worst drag
ever.
”

They both laughed. Then they had the decency to look guilty about it.

The two of them sat silently on the bed after that, Stanley wondering what Sylvia was thinking, and Sylvia wondering if what Stanley had said was true. About Mr. Ingersol. Then Stanley’s mind drifted away from the party and the mystery of who sent the flowers and homed in on more personal matters. His love life, for one thing. Or his lack of one.

Apparently Stanley’s troubled thoughts registered on his face.

Since they were still holding hands, Sylvia gave his fingers a little squeeze to get his attention. She studied Stanley’s countenance when he turned to gaze at her. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

Sylvia looked as if she didn’t believe that for a second, but she let it go. “Roger was just here. He’s working a double shift. He told me which ward he was working, but it was just a bunch of letters. I don’t know what they meant or remember what they were. Oh, wait, maybe he told me he was working the Emergency Room today. Heck, I don’t remember. Have you seen him?”