Serenading Stanley (22 page)

ChiChi rolled his eyes. “You bet, Cupcake. Clean as a whistle.”

Stanley shuddered. Then he gathered them into a final group hug. He wished them the best and jogged back up the stairs.

The world was
filled
with love today. And everybody was a part of it. Pete and Sylvia. ChiChi and Ramon. For the first time in his life, even Stanley was a part of it. He wasn’t just standing in the background looking on this time. Hell, no. This time he was
part
of it. Him and Roger. They were
both
a part of it. Stanley and Roger.

And boy, didn’t he love saying their two names together. Those two names sounded really good together. Like they belonged. Sort of like crackers and chili. Or ice and tea. Wasn’t that nice? Stanley and Roger. Stanley and Roger. Or, for the hell of it, Roger and Stanley. Roger and Stanley. That sounded good too.

The smile on his face crumbled to dust and sifted to his feet like volcanic ash when he spotted his mother lurking at his front door. She was squinting against the carcinogens wafting up from the Marlboro dangling from her lips, and she had another cigarette smoldering in her hand. She was bent over in a dense cloud of smoke, clutching her bosom, gasping for air, cussing under her breath, and trying to pick his lock with the handle of a mascara brush.

Her head was entombed in a sun hat with a brim so wide it resembled a flying saucer. The hat also managed to keep the smoke hovering in front of her eyes with nowhere to escape. She obviously couldn’t see a damn thing. Nor could she breathe. The woman was a walking disaster.

To say she didn’t look happy would have been understating the situation immensely. Stanley actually considered reprising his Little Mouse routine and tiptoeing back down the stairs like a coward before she spotted him, but he couldn’t be that cruel. She was, after all, his mother. God help him.

“You’re smoking two cigarettes at the same time,” he said.

She spun around so quickly Stanley had the impression the hat didn’t move at all, only her head did, like a light bulb twisting in a socket.

“I
like
smoking two cigarettes at the same time,” she growled. “Now open this fucking door.”

“Hello to you too,” Stanley muttered, digging for his keys.

He opened the door, and as he was ushering her inside, Ramon and ChiChi came tripping gaily up the stairs to the landing, hand in hand, bumping shoulders, lobbing words of love back and forth like a badminton birdie.

“Mrs. S!” Ramon squealed, looking up and seeing Stanley’s mom standing there smoking like a brushfire. “I haven’t seen you for
days
!”

“Blow me,” she said, eyes narrowed, a drop of sweat trembling from the tip of her nose.

Ramon blinked. “I’m sorry. I thought you said—”

“Blow me,” she said again.

ChiChi gazed in confusion at Ramon, then at Mrs. Sternbaum, then back to Ramon, wondering what the hell was going on. He was also probably trying to understand how his new lover could have suddenly appeared to shrink about a foot. And Ramon wasn’t that tall to begin with.

Tears were gathering in Ramon’s eyes. His chin gave a tiny tremble. “What’s wrong, Mrs. S? Are you unhappy with your new—?”

And for the third and final time, Stanley’s mother sputtered, “Blow me,” then spun and disappeared through Stanley’s door.

Stanley gave Ramon a shrug of apology and watched as the poor little guy buried his face in his new lover’s chest, sobbing like a toddler who had just dropped his ice cream cone and had it smashed flat by a passing taxi.

ChiChi just stood there, patting Ramon’s shoulder and looking mightily confused.

Stanley quietly closed the door in their faces. He figured it was better that way. For him, at least, if not for them.

The first thing he did after turning his back on the misery in the hall was bustle off to the kitchen to fetch a dinner plate. He didn’t have any ashtrays. He set the plate in front of his mother as she collapsed at the kitchen table.

“That was cruel,” Stanley said.

His mother plucked a tissue from her purse and blotted her face dry. “Good. The little shit ruined me. I hope he gets crabs.”

Stanley grinned. He couldn’t help himself. “If you’re hot, take off your hat.”

“Never,” she said, giving him an evil look. If a fly had been buzzing past, it would have incinerated in midair as it crossed her line of sight. “This hat hasn’t been off my head in three days.”

Stanley plopped himself down in the opposite chair. He could see tiny wet strands of pink hair protruding from underneath his mother’s butt-ugly hat, but he decided if he ever wanted to see his twenty-third birthday, he probably shouldn’t mention them.

“What’s up?” he asked, innocently enough, considering the circumstances.

She stubbed out both cigarettes on the dinner plate, first one, then the other, and fished around in her purse again. She extracted an envelope and handed it to Stanley, giving him a resigned look of forbearance and unmitigated martyrdom.

This was her doting, mistreated mother persona. Stanley knew it well. It was one of her favorite fictional characters to play, and she had been inflicting it on Stanley since he was old enough to understand what the word “duplicity” meant. She had been tweaking and honing her performance since before Stanley was potty trained, and now it truly was a masterpiece—to everyone but Stanley. He had caught the show one too many times for it to affect him any longer. Still, she dragged out a new rendition periodically, rather like a thespian reprises
Hamlet
every time he can book a theater.

“I’ve finally decided you’re serious about moving out on your own, so I’m not going to stand in your way. To make it a little easier for you, here’s a check for a couple of grand in case you run short of money. I love you, and I don’t want you to suffer. I may have to do without a few things but that’s all right. That’s what mothers were put on earth to do. Without. I figure it’s my duty to suffer enough for both of us.”

Stanley tore open the envelope and gazed at the check. Yep. Two thousand bucks. Damn, this was just turning out to be one hell of a day. First Roger, now this.

He reached out and patted his mother’s hand. “Thank you. This will help a lot.”

She nodded, then glanced at her watch. “Have to run. I have a hair appointment.” She faced the wall and screamed at the top of her voice, obviously for Ramon’s benefit, “With a real fucking hairdresser!”

She blessed Stanley with a very uncharacteristic grin, and teased, “Think he heard me?”

Stanley laughed, amazed his mother had actually dredged up that evilass grin in the middle of all her vicious snarkiness.

“If he’s within a two-mile radius,” Stanley said, “yes. He heard you. And Mom, a word of advice. This time while you get your hair done, don’t drink a quart of scotch.”

She chuckled but there wasn’t much humor in it. “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

His mother gathered up her belongings and stood. She reached out and gave Stanley a pat on the head as if he were a Boston terrier. She had never been much on demonstrative motherhood.

“You look happy,” she said. “Anything I should know about?”

Stanley blushed. “I have a date.”

His mother tipped her head to the side and her features softened as she considered that. “Who with?”

Without a heartbeat of hesitation, Stanley said, “The love of my life, I think.”

His mother gave him a fond but slightly startled look, as if seeking the exact words to compliment an announcement like that. Should she hug him and give her blessing, or call the asylum and reserve him a room. In the end, she reverted to form. Just as Stanley knew she would.

She tapped a long, perfectly manicured fingernail on the check lying on the table. “There’s your dowry. Bring him by the condo sometime, and I’ll tell you what I think of him.”

Stanley reached up and straightened her hat.

“You’re something else, Mom.”

“I know,” she said. And with that, she headed for the door. Along the way, she repositioned the hat the way
she
wanted it.

Just before she stepped out into the hall, she turned. There was a genuine smile playing at her mouth. Stanley had not seen one of those on her face for a very long time. She pinned him with her eyes, and for once her eyes were kind. Stanley wasn’t sure if he’d
ever
seen
that
before.

“You’re better than you think you are, Stanley. Don’t settle for second best.”

Roger’s face flashed in Stanley’s mind. A breathtaking photo. Just seeing it there, entrenched so solidly in his memory, swelled his heart to twice its size. “Believe me, Mom, I’m not.”

His mother nodded. “Good.”

Clutching the doorknob, she muttered, “Oh God. Six fucking flights
again
.”

And with that parting shot, she was gone, quietly closing the door behind her as she lit up another Marlboro before tackling the stairs.

A
LONE
for the first time since seeing Roger in Sylvia’s hospital room, Stanley let the enormity of what was about to take place wash over him. The changes in his life. And not just Stanley’s. Roger’s too. The changes in
their
lives.

Standing in his living room with eyes closed, he thought of Roger, the words they had spoken to each other, the promises they had almost made. He remembered the way Roger had so assuredly strode across the hospital room as Sylvia looked on, and the way he had folded Stanley into his arms, without pause or hesitation. Like he knew exactly what he was doing and absolutely would not be deterred. Stanley could still feel Roger’s arms wrapped around him. Making him feel safe. Making him feel loved.

As the hawks in the eucalyptus tree outside his window argued and keened and wailed in their high-pitched voices, as if maybe psyching themselves up for their evening hunt, Stanley felt his heart thundering with hope. And with fear too. But the fear was a minor consideration now. Stanley refused to let it control him any longer, not where Roger was concerned. From now on Stanley would be ruled by trust. Trust in Roger. Trust in the way he was certain Roger felt about him. And he
was
certain now.

It was still an amazing thing, knowing hunky, gorgeous Roger Jane had spoken words of love to little Stanley Sternbaum. Words so clearly from the heart. But Stanley would not let himself doubt those words any longer. Dammit, he
wouldn’t.
He
had
to believe them now. He
had
to.

Stanley still wasn’t exactly sure what it was that convinced him Roger truly wanted him. Was it the earnest way Roger had uttered those words of love, speaking so clearly from the heart, laying it all out, being as honest as he knew how to be? Was it the certainty in Roger’s eyes as he scooped Stanley into his arms, squeezing him tight, as if never wanting to let him go again? As if knowing this was exactly what he wanted and he would let no one stand in his way until he got it.

Roger seemed so determined in his affection for Stanley. As if he knew it was absolutely the right way to feel. How could Stanley respond any other way?

A shudder of excitement tore through Stanley as he stood there in his sweltering apartment, listening to the hawks, waiting for that life-altering tap on his door. A tap from the man who loved him.

He wondered where his life would lead him now. Where it would lead the
both
of them. Wherever that destination turned out to be, Stanley knew without a doubt he and Roger would travel the road together. Happily. That’s what people in love do. And that’s what they were, Stanley thought, as an incredulous smile slowly split his face apart. They were people in love. Him and Roger.

Yowza.

Stanley shook himself out of his reverie. He had things to do. Roger had looked so weary at the hospital. And no wonder. He had just worked a double shift in a big-city emergency room. Stanley couldn’t even imagine what that would be like. Just the hours Stanley had spent in the same ER, with Roger and Pete and Arthur, waiting for word on Sylvia, had worn Stanley out and frazzled every single nerve in his body. The tension, the rush, the cries of the patients. And they had only been in the waiting room! What the hell would it be like behind those swinging doors, where people’s lives were actually hanging in the balance every single minute of every single day?

Stanley remembered how the very presence of Roger standing in that throng of misery had drawn other eyes besides Stanley’s. He remembered how Roger’s calm beauty had eased the terror on the tormented faces of those waiting—how the simple act of looking at Roger standing there with them, a god among the mortals, had eased their fear, even if only for a moment.

That’s what beauty does, Stanley thought. Beauty and goodness.

Don’t settle for second best,
his mother had said.

Stanley smiled, remembering her words.
Don’t worry, Mom. I’m not. Not by a long shot.

And with that, Stanley finally kicked himself into gear. He did a quick clean-up of the apartment, tore off his clothes and leaped in the shower, scrubbed down, dried off, and redressed in cargo shorts and a Gay Pride T-shirt, only because it was one of the few shirts he had that was clean at that particular moment. Then he grabbed his cell phone and ordered pizzas to be delivered. Thirty minutes later, the pizzas came, and the poor delivery man was so pissed off and exhausted from schlepping those hot pizzas up six flights of stairs in Stanley’s hot-as-hell stairwell that Stanley took pity on the guy and gave him a ten-dollar tip.