Serenading Stanley (21 page)

“No.”

She gave him a cross look. “I know you haven’t, Stanley. He told me you haven’t even tried to see him. You haven’t called. He thinks he’s lost you. Did you know that?”

“No. I’ve been busy too. Classes, the dig in the desert, studying for exams. It’s kind of hectic right now.”

“Too hectic to fall in love? Poor Roger has been spending every break he gets with me, sitting right where you’re sitting now. Trying to make sense out of how things got so messed up between the two of you. I told him it wasn’t his fault. I told him it’s yours. Sure seems to be anyway. What do you have to say to that?”

Stanley stared through the sun-drenched window to avoid the accusing question in her gaze. “Sylvia. Don’t. It—it’s complicated.”

She made a tiny fist and banged him in the arm to get his attention. “You still don’t believe he’s crazy about you, do you? You still think you’re not good enough for him. That’s really what it is. Isn’t it? You think because of the way he looks, you can’t trust him. You think you don’t measure up. You’re punishing him for being beautiful and you’re punishing yourself for not being beautiful enough. So while you play your little blame game, everybody gets hurt and no one gets what they want. Where the hell is the sense in that?”

Stanley was sorry he came. Sorry he bought the fucking flowers. Sorry he ever moved into the Belladonna Arms to begin with. At least that’s what he was trying to tell himself. But did he really believe it? He rubbed his arm. Sylvia had a powerful little fist.

Suddenly, he needed a friendly touch. Needed it bad. He shyly gathered up Sylvia’s hands in both of his. Her hands were small, he noticed, even if they did carry quite a punch. They were just like a woman’s hands. Like the woman she should have been.

“You have pretty hands,” he said.

Sylvia sighed. “Thank you, Stanley, but you’re changing the subject.”

“How come you never showed me your new tits?”

Sylvia tried to bite back a laugh, and she almost made it. The grin gave her away. “Do you really want to see them?”

“No.”

“That’s what I thought. But we’re not talking about my new tits, as you so gracelessly put it. We’re talking about the fact that you’re breaking my best friend’s heart. What are we going to do about
that?
”

Stanley’s smile faded quickly enough. Was he really breaking Roger’s heart? He couldn’t believe it. But she was right about one thing. They did need to talk this out. He had to let Sylvia know how he felt, and maybe by explaining it to her he could explain it to himself. After a moment of getting his thoughts in order, he finally tried to make sense of the mess. But the very first words out of his mouth made him realize he probably sounded pitifully stupid. “I’ve never been in love before.”

Sylvia seemed to agree with Stanley’s assessment. He did sound stupid. She coughed up a testy little
harrumph
and focused her eyes on the sky outside the window. “I’m not surprised.”

“I’ll probably screw it up.”

“We all screw things up. The trick is to know how to unscrew them later.”

“I do love him, you know. At least I think I do. I’m nuts about the guy. I can’t think about anything else.”

At this, Sylvia looked away from the window and studied Stanley’s face. “Then why are you tormenting the poor man? Go to him, Stanley. Tell him exactly what you are sitting here telling me.
Tell
him you love him. Don’t you think he might like to hear that? Why the hell are you telling me? Tell him!”

“Yes” came a quiet voice from behind them. “Tell me.”

Stanley spun around. It was Roger, standing in the doorway. He wore rubber gloves and his scrubs were a mess. There was a smear of blood on his pant leg and two more spatters of blood on his shirtfront. He must have been working the ER, like Sylvia had said. He had dark circles under his eyes and his five o’clock shadow was the heaviest Stanley had ever seen it. There was a sheen of perspiration on his forehead and a sheen of moisture in his eyes as well. He looked like he was trying desperately not to cry. Or maybe he was just exhausted. Stanley wasn’t sure.

“Tell me. Please.” Roger stared at Stanley’s face with such an intense look of longing Stanley could hardly believe the look was aimed at him.

“Tell him,” Sylvia whispered, and gave Stanley a gentle shove, pushing him off the bed to his feet.

Stanley took an awkward step toward the door, toward Roger; then he stopped in the middle of the room. He didn’t seem to mind that Sylvia was perched on the bed behind him, eagerly waiting to eavesdrop on whatever he had to say. He minded only that Roger was waiting. He was waiting with such anticipation on his face, Stanley was afraid for a moment he would be unable to find the right words, be incapable of saying what it was he really wanted to say. And it was so important too. Maybe the most important words he would ever hear himself speak.

But then, looking into Roger’s eyes, he felt his fear simply evaporate. Like magic. He knew beyond all doubt if he was ever to give in to love, it would have to be right now, right here, and with this man. With Roger Jane. Stanley wanted no one else. And finally, at long, long last, he was beginning to believe the impossible had happened. Roger Jane didn’t want anyone else either. He wanted Stanley.

He wants me,
Stanley thought, and the words kept tearing through his mind.
He honestly wants me. He does. I can see it in his eyes. I can feel it in his words. In the way he’s standing there, waiting. Hoping.

In a furious stage whisper, Sylvia hissed behind him, “Goddammit, Stanley, say something!”

Stanley found his voice. In a flutter of fear, with his pulse pounding like a hammer inside his head, he dredged up the words he wanted to hear himself say and somehow managed to drag them from his throat. “I think maybe I’m not so afraid of a broken heart after all. It has finally occurred to me that if I can have you even for one single day, it’ll be worth the risk. You are everything I never hoped to attain. Everything I never thought I deserved.” And after a couple of thudding heartbeats, he asked, “Did you really think you’d lost me, Roger?”

“Yes.”

“And that would be a bad thing?”

Roger’s eyes narrowed as he popped off his rubber gloves. “Yes, baby. That would be a very bad thing.”

Stanley tried to smile but his lips wouldn’t seem to work right. No one had ever called him baby before Roger. “Then I’m sorry you thought it.”

“Does that mean I haven’t, then?”

“No. You haven’t. And I haven’t lost you?”

“No, Stanley. You’ll have to work harder than that to get rid of me.”

Stanley’s vision was getting blurry. It took him a moment to realize it was because of the tears gathering in his eyes. “Good to know. I’ll have to remember not to work at it.”

“That would be nice,” Roger said, his dimple flashing, but only for a moment. His face was too somber for dimple-flashing. His eyes too big and round and filled with—hope.

A tear slid down Stanley’s cheek and he heard Sylvia sniffle behind him.

Stanley dredged up the strength to say one last thing. “If you want to hold me, Roger, you’ll have to come over here. My legs are shaking and my feet won’t move.”

So Roger did. He flung the rubber gloves into a corner and swept across the room, pulling Stanley into his arms with such force it drove the air from his lungs. Meanwhile, Sylvia giggled and sniffled and dabbed at her eyes in the bed behind them.

Roger smelled of sweat and antiseptic, and when he wrapped his strong arms around Stanley and squeezed him tight, Stanley knew this was the very spot he most wanted to be in all the world. In these arms. In this heart. In this wonderful moment of time when Stanley Sternbaum had at long last found what love was all about. He couldn’t quite believe it yet. He had somehow managed to push his fears aside and open himself up—and look what he’d caught!

The most beautiful man in the world.

Who the hell could ever have foreseen that happening?

Stanley tucked his head under Roger’s chin and pressed his face into Roger’s warm chest. The scattering of chest hair peeking over the vee of Roger’s work scrubs tickled his nose. Roger’s heavenly arms, with those beautiful biceps forever rolling around like baseballs, held him close, pinned him down. Roger pressed his lips into Stanley’s hair and inhaled Stanley’s scent.

“I’ll make you happy, Stanley Sternbaum,” he whispered. “I promise I will.”

Stanley tilted his head back to kiss that strong, sandpapery chin. “And I promise I’ll stop fighting you every step of the way while you’re doing it.”

Roger reciprocated by planting a kiss on Stanley’s nose. “That would be nice.”

“Sarcasm?”

“You bet.”

“And you still want me?”

“Yes, I still want you, Stanley. More than anything. Don’t ever ask me that question again. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Stanley eased himself from Roger’s arms, although he sure as hell didn’t want to. “I want to kiss you, but not here. You work here. If we start smooching, you’ll probably get fired, and then I’ll have to support you for the rest of my life. Can’t have that. I can barely support myself.”

Roger grinned. “No, then we can’t have that.”

“What time will you be home?”

Roger glanced at his watch. “A couple of hours. Will you be there waiting for me when I do? I’d really like it if you were.”

Stanley nodded. “I’ll make you dinner.”

And Roger said the words Stanley would remember for the rest of his life.

“I don’t want any dinner. I only want you.”

At that, Sylvia wailed and grabbed for the tissues. And a second later, with a final brush of fingertips along Stanley’s cheek, and a gentle parting smile, Roger was gone, back to work, back to the ER.

Stanley collapsed onto Sylvia’s bed, as happy as he had ever been in his life. And as stunned. He still couldn’t believe what had just happened.

Stanley turned to her then, and in a voice that barely stirred the air, he said, “Someone loves me.”

Sylvia beamed and planted a kiss on his forehead. Then, looking around at the flowers filling the room, she said, “I think maybe someone loves me too.”

“Grand, ain’t it?” Stanley grinned.

She could only nod her head as they stared back at each other, both looking a little shell-shocked by the unexpected turn of events.

“I think they’re going to let me go home tomorrow,” she announced, looking around as if expecting a doctor to jump out of the closet, eager to sign her release papers right then and there. “I think maybe the first thing I’ll do is make Mr. Ingersol some cookies.”

“Pete,” Stanley corrected.

“Pete,” she said with a wondering smile, as if suddenly realizing maybe she liked the sound of that one little word. Pete.

She laid cool fingertips on Stanley’s cheek. “Don’t worry, lover. I’ll make you some cookies too.”

“Oh, good,” Stanley said, rather absentmindedly. He no longer knew what the hell they were talking about. Cookies, wasn’t it? Why the fuck were they talking about cookies? His mind had gone back to Roger and the way he had spoken those final, wonderful words.

I don’t want any dinner. I only want you.

Stanley closed his eyes and listened to the words echo through his head time and time again in an unending loop. An incredulous smile crept across his face. Wow. Those were probably the greatest words ever uttered. By anybody.
Ever.

And Roger Jane had said them to little old Stanley Sternbaum!

Suddenly too happy to keep it inside, Stanley scooped Sylvia into his arms and hugged her close. “Thank you,” he whispered.

When Sylvia stiffened in his arms, Stanley looked up. Pete Ingersol stood in the doorway holding an African violet.

This one had a card on it.

Stanley suspected Mr. Ingersol had decided to take the bull by the horns and stop being mysterious. And Stanley couldn’t have been happier.

With a wink and a kiss, he muttered a hurried good-bye to Sylvia, gave Pete a neighborly nod and a friendly pat on the shoulder, and made his escape, leaving the lovebirds alone to sort it all out themselves.

Besides, Stanley had others things on his mind. A bazillion of them.

L
ATER
,
Stanley would not remember making his way back to the Belladonna Arms and his hot-as-hell apartment, which now, in his current state of mind, seemed like nothing less than Shangri-La. He was so happy for himself and happily hopeful for Pete and Sylvia that when he ran across Ramon helping ChiChi carry his belongings down the stairs to five, since the two had apparently decided to move in together at last, Stanley couldn’t contain himself a moment longer. Surprising the shit out of both of them, he gave them each a spine-jarring slap on the back and a very European kiss on both cheeks by way of congratulation. After that, he scooped them into a bone-crushing three-way hug that scattered sex toys and porno films all over the fifth-floor landing. Then he helped them schlepp ChiChi’s metal and leather S&M swing set, which weighed a ton, down six flights of stairs to the trash, where they dropped it into the dumpster with a crash. As they all three trudged back up the stairs, Ramon dusted off his hands and announced proudly, dragging ChiChi into his arms. “There! You’re no longer a whore, my love. Now you’re all mine.”

Even in the midst of trying not to keel over from the heat, since the stairway was still about a thousand fucking degrees, ChiChi responded with a wink and a grin. “I kept the twizzler, honey buns.”

To which Ramon replied, “Oh, good. I kind of liked that little contraption.”

ChiChi gave a happy smirk. “Did you ever!”

Ramon glanced at Stanley and turned a brilliant shade of red. He gave Stanley a friendly poke in the gut to wipe the grin off his face, and announced, “Don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it.”

Stanley laughed and cringed at the same time. “Okeydokey.”

Ramon seemed to have second thoughts. He whirled on ChiChi. “You did sterilize it though, right? I mean really
really
sterilize it. Like at a nuclear level.”