Rewriting Singularity

"Unwrap it, go on!"

I licked my lips and looked up at Hec as my fingers slid under the tape. Lots to unwrap. And more I'd like to unwrap later.

Even as a kid I never liked to peek-- took my time opening that special package.

"You're driving me crazy! Open it!" Hec coaxed. I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. After all, Christmas morning

is

for lovers and children.

"Come on!" No one I ever knew danced and squirmed in one place like him: I loved that pile of combustible nerves called Hec.

My fingers took hold and with one loud, long rip, half the paper was off the box.

The other half wasn't as easy. Tape. Little pieces stuck like insane patchwork.

"Don't tell me--" I said, "you wrapped it yourself--"

He nodded.

I went at it. As a blizzard of red gift wrap confetti flew around the room, Hec erupted into one of those happy-hiccupping bursts of laughter that endeared him to me. Heat pooled in my stomach from the way he patted his knees in anticipation. His lopsided-twitchy grin made me want to throw him down in front of the fire and fuck him sillier than he already was. Yeah, I'd make him twitch in other places.

I shook my head and laughed back at him. I loved watching him watch me as much as I loved opening the package.

Paper gone, I slipped my hands around the box. Caressed it and looked to him for a nod, an ok, to finish opening his gift. I got the nod, then slipped the top off and closed my eyes to savor that last instant of surprise.

"Oh, come on!" Hec said, thrashing around the couch so much that I bounced up off the cushion. "Open your eyes! Open your eyes!"

What is it?

I pondered.

Haines underwear? Fruit of the Loom t-shirts? Argyle socks?

First one eye, then the other.

Nope

.

My first thought was that he spent too much.

Shit. A suit.

A nice one too. Wool, three button, navy blue. Dress shirt, light blue striped hand tailored from Italy. All my size. And a matching silk tie.

"Look underneath," Hec said.

What? No... he didn't--

under tissue paper I found blue saltwater taffy.

"Here," he said, handing me a small satin box, hinged. Nothing to unwrap this time. "I got this for you too."

Like that wasn't enough. He'd done too much already--

I lifted it.

Cuff links. Gold. Engraved. Both of our initials together.

"Wow, thanks."

He winked. "You

do

need something to wear when we go out on New Year's."

"You spent way too much on me." I bit my lip. "Thanks."

He shook his head. "Not as much as you think."

I went to the tree. I picked up my gift to him and set the box in his lap. I hoped he liked it.

He unwrapped his package like a kid. Opened the box and--

"I don't believe it!" he exclaimed. "Bird seed! You shouldn't have!"

"Oh, shit. That's Pete's," I said, whisking it from his hand. "Just a minute."

God, how did I manage that? Hmm. I

knew

I shouldn't have wrapped them in the same paper.

I sheepishly went back to the tree and retrieved the gift.

What a sport. He opened this with the same zeal.

I unwrapped a piece of the taffy and popped it into my mouth.

He practically jumped in my lap.

"Holy fuck! Season Packers' tickets!"

"I got something for Kate and Chas when they get up." I pointed to the tree. "Hope they like bathrobes and Bath and Body Works."

"Chas loves Bath and Body. And

I

love this. Thanks." He gave me a big smooch. "This is great. Packers' tickets. Cool." Hec turned the tickets over and looked me in the eyes and kissed me again. "You taste good too."

He thanked me one last time. With tongue. Yeah, lots of tongue. "Look under the tickets," I mumbled.

Our mouths stuck together, bottom lips attached with blue gooey candy. He fumbled with the box in his hand, pulled out a piece of paper and unfolded it carefully.

"A check? What the hell for?" he frowned.

"Your half of the script-- the sitcom. This isn't even the whole thing. Just a kind of retainer to get the rights." I picked at some candy stuck to my teeth. "I sent it in-- to Fox. They want it."

"This much? Shit, guess I

can

afford that suit." He socked me playfully in the arm. "Ha, ha. Just kidding.

Really

. It didn't cost that much. I bought the suit at the Salvation Army."

"Really?"

"No. K-mart."

"Really?" I raised an eyebrow and plucked another piece of candy from my box.

"No. The neighbor passed away. He was the same size as you."

"Now you

are

kidding," I said, stuffing another piece of taffy into my mouth.

"Seriously. I got a good deal. And these Packers' tickets are worth more." He gave me that lopsided grin. "Probably."

After, we drank coffee waiting for Kate and Chas. I rocked in the old chair next to the fire as Hec sat between my legs on the floor in front of me, his back rubbing against my shins in time to the groans of the chair, curly head rolling back cushioned on my knees. I closed my eyes, imagining us twenty, thirty years from now sitting in front of the same crackling fireplace and wondered what we'd look like. Me possibly older, wiser with sultry-hot in my old age, of course. I'm all salt and pepper. And Hec? His hairline gone south, but even more handsome.

I saw us together, me in the same chair, Hec with his head resting the same way on my old knobby-knees hidden under faded flannel pjs. I'd look down at Hec sitting between my slippers (damn I needed to clip those toenails). He'd turn and smile at me, deep laugh lines with that same impish grin. In one blink, my fantasy went from Winter by the roaring fireplace to the Summer on the front porch. We'd coast on the glider hand-in-hand with feet crossed and sip lemonade as we'd watch the sun set.

Got all mushy-eyed thinking on it. Always doing that-- getting mushy-in-love with the idea of love. What did Austin call it? Over-romanticizing? Only now I wasn't. This was for real. The real deal. The real thing. This was IT. This was forever.

My Christmas morning fantasies flew up and away like Santa's sleigh off a rooftop as Chas and Kate interrupted with banging and laughing in the hallway. The room filled with cheer along with five choruses of "Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock." I spent the rest of the morning listening and watching the three together, throwing wrapping paper, giving bear-hugs and sloppy kisses.

I still hadn't told Hec that while I was out Christmas shopping I'd called the detectives.

----------------

The weekend passed. New Year's Eve came fast, and I still hadn't told him about the long conversations I'd had with Linden and Jorge. I wasn't sure why-- well, hell I was too. I knew

exactly

why I kept putting it off-- because I'd asked them to look for Hec's parents along with finding out information about our friendly ghosts, and I

knew

Hec would be pissed. But still, I figured whatever I learned I didn't

have

to share with him until he was r

eady

to hear it. I knew I was just making excuses in my head-- justifying my need to right one of the wrongs in the world. My whole life was a series of efforts to do just that-- I was no superhero, but my sister claimed that I secretly wanted a cape. After one of my failed attempts to right a wrong, she'd remind me that I couldn't save the world-- still I wanted to save a piece. I kept trying. Besides, I told her I'd look stunning in one of those skin-tight superhero outfits.

My sister was happy when I started writing for television-- said as a sitcom writer I could make the world laugh instead of saving it. She always said I'd only find pain in fixing other people's problems. Besides, she said, in a way laughter could help save the world. Although most times she didn't appreciate my advice regarding her dating habits or choice of friends, she put up with it. My friends didn't appreciate my advice either. Relationship counseling that hurt relationships. A real dilemma. Case in point when I tried to fix my parents' marriage: my sister almost wrote me off because of my machinations. Note to other future meddlers: never throw two people together into a locked closet and expect them to kiss and make up. It only works on television sitcoms. That's why I do all of my relationship healing via make-believe. Took me two years in the Peace Corps in Panama before I realized my calling wasn't helping others. Got malaria for my trouble. I guess I didn't learn enough from that though. Now Hec. And Johann and Henry. My inner voice was back. I couldn't leave that cape behind-- I had to know what happened to his parents.

The big evening came, and I still hadn't told him

everything

. I told him about the detectives, that they were looking into Johann's and Henry's past-- but I didn't say a word about Hec's parents. He didn't ask either. I figured, don't ask, don't tell.

But I think he may have suspected.

I was ready for New Year's night. Hec too. God, he looked delicious all dressed up. Me? The suit fit perfect. Almost like he knew my frame intimately.

Loved the cufflinks.

I knew nothing about the night life in Green Bay. Hec said he knew even less, but he did go to this particular club called SX.

Hec drove his old truck. The place was near the bay. Parked in the ramp across the street. First thing I noticed as we came down the walk was this crowd of hot women, going into the place, sequins sparkling, spike heels clicking on the pavement. Hadn't seen that much fish-net since my sister's Frederick's of Hollywood catalog.

We stood in line, waiting to be seated-- Hec scratched his chin, and I licked my lips. Hec had made a reservation. A hot babe was in front of me-- long legs, fiery-red hair flying, silver and black lamé evening gown. She stepped back, I stepped forward right on top of her foot.

"Sorry," I said.

"Watch where yer steppin', mac," came a deep voice. My head jerked up, then I took a closer look around. All those hot, hot women? Ah, they weren't women at all. And some of the men? They weren't men either.

SX was a gay club.

My illusion of myself as the worldly big city boy disappeared into the Green Bay, Wisconsin, night.

Shit

.

A handsome waiter led us to our table. Nice spot near the dance floor right next to this short, squint-eyed man with over-developed biceps. He pulled out a pipe. Stuffed it with tobacco.

The waiter handed us our menus.

"Band doesn't start to play until 11," Hec said. "Plenty of time for dinner."

"I'm starved."

Popeye at the next table kept leering at my man. Not that I blamed him, Hec

was

one handsome man.

Waiter came around. Took our orders.

"I'll have ribs, baked potato, sour cream, broccoli," I said. "Coffee and a shot of Jack Daniels."

"In the coffee?" Hec laughed.

"No," I smiled.

The waiter nodded. Hec ordered. The waiter left.

"Shrimp scampi? Garlic bread?" I asked. "I thought you wanted a kiss to ring in the new year?"

"Don't worry. I brought my handy-dandy tooth brush," he said, patting his coat pocket, "and I'm sure they have mints here too."

We had three shots before dinner got to the table. The way Hec was smiling, he was feeling no pain.

The ribs were good, but they gave me spinach instead of broccoli. A fancy finger bowl but no wet naps. Hec had two more shots while we were eating.

"I think you better slow down or you won't make it to midnight," I said, licking my fingers.

"Um, why don't you send it back?" Hec ignored me. "Get broccoli instead?"

"I

could

send the spinach to Popeye over at the next table," I suggested.

"Him?" Hec half turned to look. "He does kind of look like Popeye."

"He's giving

you

the pop eye too."

"

Me

?" Hec laughed, sending a spray of whiskey across the table. "I thought he was giving you the pop eye."

"Hell, no. He checked out

your

ass when you sat down."

"Well, you don't have to worry-- his date is pretty cute."

"Cute? Those shoes are last year-- and those hoop earrings are

over

the top."

Hec laughed again, wiped his mouth with his napkin and set it on the table.

"You're pretty cute yourself. You should eat ribs more often. I love to watch you eat with your fingers." He leaned over the table and whispered in my ear. "

Makes me hard

."

I thought we were going to have to call a cab. No way he was driving home, and I was already drunk too.

The band started up. I knew we were in trouble. Nirvana wannabes.

It was then I noticed Hec turning green. He made a mad dash to the men's room.

Popeye got up to follow.

I followed Popeye. Popeye's date followed me. Not one of us walked in a straight line either. Someone was rocking the poop deck.

The one-eyed runt was moving fast for being intoxicated. Yep, he was right behind Hec and into the bathroom. Sorry, but gay bar? Bathroom? I wasn't taking any chances with Hec in that condition.

I came in to see Popeye pissing and to hear Hec vomiting in the third stall. I went over and knocked.

"You ok?"

"Fuck! Fine! Just pukin' my guts out. I'll be ok after I get rid of this lung."

I stood outside his stall waiting. Hec opened the door, took one look at me and vomited bits of shrimp scampi and garlic bread all over my shoes. "Sorry, I thought I was done."

"You always get that reaction?" Popeye asked, winking at me.

I shot him a dirty look. His date, Olive Oyl, shot me one. Hec had about half a roll of wadded-up toilet paper in his hand and was at my feet wiping the puke off my shoes.

"Don't, Hec. It's fine," I said, bending down. I helped him up. He stood all shaky, and god, he was even cute after he barfed.

It must be love.

Hec stumbled to the sink and threw water in his face.

"Aren't you glad I came prepared?" Hec pulled out a zip-lock baggy with his toothbrush and toothpaste inside.

I shook my head. "Almost like you knew what was going to happen."

"Yeah," he said. "Almost."

I grabbed some paper towels and cleaned off my shoes better while he brushed his teeth.

"Most men who say they've come prepared pull out a condom," Popeye observed. And that's not all he observed. His good eye leered at Hec's ass all bent over the sink as he rinsed his mouth out. Olive Oyl smacked Popeye in the back of the head.

"I'm not most men," Hec said, turning to me. He zipped his toothbrush and toothpaste back into his handy-dandy baggy. "There," he said, slipping them into his coat. "Now I can drink some more."

"I can't wait..." I said.

As we walked out into bad music, I could hear Olive Oyl behind us bitching out her man. Always thought Olive Oyl was a dyke, not a man in drag.

Never mind that some days, hey, life sucked. Never mind that I hate spinach and fingerbowls with little mint sprigs. Never mind that Popeye insulted me in the men's room. Never mind that bits of puke were still on my shoes and never mind that the stupid band sucked. "Hey, bonehead! You ain't Kurt Cobain!"

Never mind

.

I held myself up with whiskey. And Hec.

Back at the table, I slammed down another glass. I was plastered. Drunk. Dizzy and giddy.

We went out on the dance floor. Anything to get closer to Hec.

Next to us, a man said: "He kissed me and

yada, yada, yada

." What was this, some rerun of Seinfeld? Yeah and that short, short, stocky, slow-witted, bald man who's pretending to be an architect is Art Vandelay?

Clean up, cut up, slap face, suck face, ding dong dingy. What?! Is that the ball dropping?

Time for a kiss. But here? This was for him. New Year's Eve. For Hec. Cheers.

No cheating, no cutting, no pushing or pulling and most of all no food or drinks beyond this point. Or yeah, no shoes, no shirt, no service. And no gay kissing. Am I that drunk?

Get to the back of the line, son. Get to the office. Get your hand off of that! No touching! Put both hands on the hood, spread your legs. What's this? A gun? Wow. A big gun too. Better get out the handcuffs. Pink and fuzzy ones.

"Ah, Jake? What the hell are you doing?"

Nothing like feeling up your boyfriend in public.

Love me tender, love me true, all my dreams fulfill. Oh, my darlin', I love you, and I always will.

"Happy New Year, lover," I whispered.

---------------------

The bumpy ride along with the speakers pounding out "we will, we will, rock you!" practically rattled the fillings out of my teeth. And then, attempting to drown out Hec's moans as I tried my best to rub through the front of his dress pants, the cab driver cranked up the volume more. I had him pinned to the seat, grinding my way into the best dry fuck I'd ever experienced until Hec ratcheted it up one more time with a quick flick of the wrist. He unzipped me and reached inside to find Mr. Happy. Rock hard on rock. I bit back a groan. Hec's brown eyes below me darkened as he looked into mine, then he flicked them over to check the driver, whose eyes were ahead on traffic, thank god, and not on us.

Queen played on.

This was probably just another night for the old codger. I imagine a cab driver like him saw it all-- like two sloppy-drunk gay men groping each other was just another night on the late shift.

All the slurping, moaning and hissing in the backseat probably sounded like a bad skin flick-- no wonder he turned up the volume.

"I think we should slow down," Hec whispered.

"What?!"

"I think we should slow down." I reluctantly agreed as he pulled his oh-so-warm hands out of my Haines briefs.

But we were getting closer to home. Better straighten up. I zipped myself back up, but not before giving Hec another long, wet New Year's kiss.

We both sat back up and relaxed into the ambiance of cigarette-burned seats and duct tape. I gripped Hec's knee to keep the world from spinning as I closed my blood-shot blue eyes. There behind them, my world rewound those last moments of the evening as the seconds ticked off on the dance floor.

We stood in the middle of the floor, hands clasped together. Around us, blurs and flashes of color and light. People shouting, singing, dancing. But not us. I'd never felt this before: to be in a room packed with people and nothing, no one else mattered.

Ten, nine, eight.

Hec looked at his feet. My hand cradled that fine jaw. He looked up.

God, his eyes. What is that I see?

Seven, six, five.

My other hand slipped through the curls at the back of his neck. So soft.

Four, three, two.

His head tipped. Mouth close. Closer. A whisper on his lips.

One.

"I love you."

"Jake? Hey, Jake! We're home. Come on." I blinked away the start of our New Year's celebration and stumbled out of the cab with hopes to finish the evening off in the magic bed of numbers.

But not before I slipped the cab driver a big tip.

He sped away as we stumbled up the steps on to the porch. Hec dropped his keys twice trying to open the door. Each time I snatched them up for him, handing them back with a smile

and

a punch in the arm the sent him wobbling and laughing into the doorframe as I said, "Open sesame." We forgot about Popeye, puke and partying as we giggled like a couple of kids.

Third try, I waved my hand in front of the door and shouted, "Allakahazam!"

The door opened. "Wow," I said, swaying into Hec. "It really worked!"

"No." Hec shook his head fiercely. "It was me and the key."

"Damn, I was getting worried there that you were losing the knack for shoving thing into holes."

We both stumbled in, supporting each other.

"That's nothing," Hec said, pointing. "Now, we've got to navigate up those stairs."

"Aren't we going to your room?"

"You really think we can make it to the other side of the house?" Hec asked.

"You've got a point." I looked up. "I never noticed there were so many stairs." I scratched my head. "Maybe if I said Allakahazam one more time I could transport us to the top."