Second Hand Read online

  Denver’s jaw tensed and he took a step back. “I never said—”

  “My point is, you have a couple hundred gay boys to pick from every night. But you don’t.”

  Denver relaxed a bit, probably because he knew El wasn’t about to hound him on the settling down thing. “Club’s nothing but college boys looking to get laid.”

  “Exactly.” El turned away to put his money into the slots. “Men in the straight clubs are no different. She meets these guys at the bar, takes them home within a week, then wonders why they turn out to be losers.”

  “Where’s she supposed to meet them?”

  “I don’t know. PTA meetings. Church. The grocery store.” El waved his hands to indicate the walls around them. “The fucking laundromat.”

  Denver snorted. “I take it she don’t go to those places?”

  “She does, actually, and guys ask her out, but you know what she says? She says they’re old or they’re fat. Or maybe they’re going bald. So she keeps choosing these drunken asshats at the bar, then wondering why they don’t turn out to be Mr. Right.”

  “You think Mr. Right’s hanging out at Tucker Laund-O-Rama?”

  Of course, when he said it that way, it sounded pretty stupid. “Maybe. Yeah.”

  Denver raised his eyebrows. “Do me a favor, El. Let me know when he walks in the door.”

  When I got home after work, I saw someone had stuck a bright pink flier into the rickety screen on my front door. I left it on the kitchen counter while I dialed Stacey’s number.

  No answer.

  I stared at the flier as the phone rang. Curb Appeal Contest, it read. Although houses in similar neighborhoods in Tucker Springs were in high demand, my little corner, an older section between the edge of the Light District and the railroad tracks, was slowly falling into disrepair. The self-appointed homeowner’s association was always trying to come up with ways to increase property value. Block parties. New playgrounds. It seemed this time it was a drive to improve the look of the lawns and houses in the neighborhood. I was about to toss it aside when the bottom line caught my eye. $500 cash prize.

  I could use $500. No doubt about that.

  I dialed Stacey’s number again. Still no answer.

  I put on some music and stuck a frozen dinner in the microwave, wondering how much it would take to win the contest.

  Our secret judges will be patrolling the neighborhood, looking for yards that are well kept, colorful, and inviting.

  That didn’t sound too hard. And for a cash prize—

  There was a dull pop, and the kitchen went dim and silent.

  “Goddammit.” I shoved away from the counter and glared at the faded wallpaper as if I could bore through to the wires beneath. “Should have known.”

  I’d long suspected the wiring in the house had never been up to code and that whatever work had been done on it hadn’t exactly been on the level. The annoyances of living in a place where half of the wiring consisted of duct tape and extension cords were part of my daily life. No running the microwave and the window-unit air conditioner at the same time. No using the computer while watching TV. Every time Stacey had used her blow dryer in the tiny master bathroom, the bedroom lights flickered and my alarm clock blinked until I reset it.

  With a weary sigh, I went into the garage and flipped the breaker. Back in the kitchen, I turned off the AC and restarted the microwave, then went back to the flier.

  The contest would run for a month. They even had a website where weekly scores would be displayed. It was worth a shot, right?

  I called Stacey again. This time, she picked up.

  “Hello?”

  She sounded annoyed. My heart sank. “Hey, Stacey. Happy birthday.”

  “Paul, you shouldn’t be calling. I’ve told you that. If Larry finds out—”

  “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to upset your new boyfriend,” I said, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

  She sighed. “What do you want?”

  This definitely wasn’t going the way I had hoped. The microwave beeped, signaling that my dinner was ready. Why hadn’t I waited until afterward to call?

  I took a deep breath. “I wondered if you’re free tomorrow night? I wanted to take you out to dinner for your birthday. We could—”

  “No.”

  “It’s only dinner.”

  “I really can’t. Larry wouldn’t like it.”

  “Come on, Stacey. After seven years together, I’m not even allowed to wish you happy birthday?”

  “You just did. And I appreciate it. But dinner isn’t a good idea.”

  I opened the microwave door, waving away the steam. “How about lunch, then?”

  She sighed, and I knew she was about to say no.

  “Coffee?”

  “I don’t know, Paul. I—”

  Whatever she said after that, I didn’t hear, because my smoke detector went off. It was loud and high-pitched, as all smoke detectors seemed to be, and I jumped.

  “Shit. Hang on, I’ll be right back.”

  “Paul? Are you okay?”

  Too angry to answer, I put the phone down and went through the usual routine of making the noise stop. I couldn’t reach the smoke detector on the ceiling, but I took off my shirt and waved it at the thing, jumping up and down, trying to scatter whatever hint of smoke it thought it smelled. The damn thing went off nearly every time I cooked, whether I managed to burn my food or not.

  “Shut up,” I yelled at it. I swung my shirt again, and it caught the edge of the lid and pulled it open. The incessant whine of the alarm stopped, although my ears were still ringing.

  It hardly seemed fair that Stacey had picked the house and then left me to deal with it, although if I had my way, she’d be coming back.

  “Fire alarm, huh?” she asked when I picked up the phone again. “Hasn’t the landlord fixed that yet?”

  “Of course not. Listen, Stacey, couldn’t you at least meet me for a cup of coffee?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Please?”

  She sighed. She was relenting.

  “Just coffee,” I emphasized, taking the window she’d left open. “How about after work tomorrow?”

  It took her a moment, but she finally said, “Fine. Coffee. I can be at Mocha Springs at five.”

  That would mean I’d have to skip out of work early, but I’d figure it out. “Great. I’ll see you then.”

  She’d already hung up the phone.

  I’d always wanted to be a veterinarian, but that wasn’t how things had worked out. Instead, I was a glorified receptionist at a veterinary office. On the bright side, my boss, Nick Reynolds, was a great guy.

  “Hey, Doc,” I said to him. “Is it okay if I cut out a bit early today?” Normally on Thursdays, we closed the office at five, and I’d be there another half hour or so wrapping things up, but I didn’t want to be late for my date with Stacey.

  I wasn’t sure if Nick had a date tonight too, but I assumed he did. Though we were nearly the same age—early thirties—Nick was successful, handsome, and built. I suspected women threw themselves at him.

  “How early?” he asked.

  “Maybe quarter to five or so?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, I think I can manage.” He tossed the patient file he’d been reviewing on my desk and leaned back with his elbows on the counter behind him. The motion stretched his shirt across his chest in a way that would have made many a coed swoon. “You got a hot date?”

  I looked down at the file so he wouldn’t notice me checking him out. Nice chest. Tattoos up one arm. He was attractive and funny and nice, and that made him intimidating as hell.

  Not that I was gay or anything. I just happened to notice he looked very nice.

  “I’m meeting Stacey. It’s her birthday.”

  He didn’t say anything, and when I looked back up, he was shaking his head. “You’re a glutton for punishment.”

  “I just think—”

  “It’
s cool,” he said, turning to pick up the next file on the stack. “I don’t mind you leaving.”

  “Thanks, Nick.”

  He glanced over at me again. He raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but then the bell on the door rang and his next client came in.

  “Hey, Seth,” Nick said, reaching across the counter to shake the man’s hand. He nodded at the pet carrier the man held. “How’s Stanley?”

  “Fatter than ever.”

  Nick laughed. “Somehow I’m not surprised.” He motioned to the door that led to the exam room. “Go on back. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  Once he was gone, Nick turned to look at me. He had insanely blue eyes. Almost as blue as Stacey’s. “Listen, kid, it’s not my business, but if you want my advice on Stacey—”

  “I don’t.”

  Because I’d heard it before. I was better off without her. She was bad news. Move on.

  He sighed. “Okay. Fair enough. I guess in that case, I wish you good luck.”

  “Thanks, Nick.”

  He shook his head as he turned to leave the room. “God knows you’re going to need it.”

  The coffee shop Mocha Springs Eternal sat a couple of blocks over from Nick’s office in the foot mall the Light District was known for. I passed the pawnshop and crossed to the cobblestone walkways that made up the center of downtown. It was a gorgeous evening, near eighty degrees but with a soft cool breeze that suited the outdoor atmosphere of the mall. A man strummed an acoustic guitar on a bench while teenagers skateboarded right past the “Dismount Zone” signs. Couples strolled hand in hand, some traditional boy-girl, but many same-sex couples as well. We hadn’t realized until after we’d rented the house that we were smack in the middle of Tucker Springs’s version of the Castro. Stacey had been embarrassed, as if we were intruding where we weren’t wanted, but I liked it. The atmosphere in the Light District was bright and fun and friendly.

  The ice cream parlor was packed. Kids sat out front, racing to finish their ice cream in the sun. Their sticky little hands clutched waffle cones. Ice cream dripped from their chins. Parents laughed at the foolishness of trying to wipe them clean. I smiled, thinking about them as I passed a series of art galleries and novelty shops, a martini bar, and a designer dress shop. Finally, I arrived at Mocha Springs Eternal.

  I checked the bar by the front window, the tables along the brick wall, and the couches in back. Stacey hadn’t yet arrived. I bought a cup of coffee for myself and a raspberry mocha cappuccino for her, and took one of the open tables near the front, where we could watch the people passing by. She liked to people-watch.

  She came in, and I waved her over to my table. She’d cut her hair shorter than I’d ever seen it, and dyed it platinum instead of the dirty dishwater blonde it had been since I’d known her. A clunky shell necklace was visible under the collar of her blouse. “Hello,” she said as she sat down with her back to the front window. “How’ve you been?”

  “Good,” I lied. “Happy birthday.” I slid the foam-topped mug across the table. “I got you your usual.”

  She looked down at it and wrinkled her nose. “It’s not my usual anymore. Too many calories. I drink chai now.”

  “Oh.”

  She sniffed and nervously touched the side of her eye, first one, then the other. She was wearing makeup—eyeliner, shadow, and thick mascara. When we’d been together, she’d only worn makeup like that for parties or evenings out. Never during the day.

  I fought down the disappointment that welled up in my chest. “Seems like everything about you has changed.”

  She tapped her finger on the table.

  I took a drink of my lukewarm coffee and tried a new tactic. “How’s your work going?”

  She relaxed marginally, leaning back in her chair. “I’m finishing up another sculpture. I’ve been showing my portfolio around, and there’s a consignment gallery in Estes Park that may be interested.”

  “That’s great,” I said, although the words were like sand in my throat. We’d come to Tucker Springs specifically because it was artsy, and Stacey had thought she’d be able to sell the scrap metal monstrosities she called art. I knew I should tell her good luck, but any connections she was making in Estes were probably through Larry, the man who had replaced me. I’d moved here to make her happy, and she’d moved on without a backward glance.

  “Are you still working for Dr. Reynolds?” she asked.

  I nodded, unsure what to say. The box with the necklace was wedged into my front pants pocket. I could feel its bulk against my thigh. “I bought you something.” I kept my eyes down so I didn’t have to see the exasperation in her eyes. I took the box out and slid it across the table to her. “For your birthday.”

  “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  She was right. After buying the necklace, I’d imagined giving it to her. I’d pictured her being surprised and appreciative, smiling and pleased, but the folly of that belief was now painfully clear. She had a new life. A new hairdo. A new lover. She didn’t want diamonds, fake or real.

  She didn’t want me.

  Nick was right. I was a fool. A glutton for punishment. I wished desperately I’d never bought the necklace at all. I was about to reach across and take the box back, but I was too slow. She picked it up and opened it.

  “Jesus, Paul,” she said in disgust. “What were you thinking?”

  “I thought you’d like it.”

  “I can’t accept this.” She snapped the box shut and put it on the table between us. “Thank you for the thought, but really, you shouldn’t have bought it.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t have come.”

  The words I’d planned to say died in my throat. I’d hoped to have a chance to talk about things. Maybe if you came home, we could work things out.

  “Don’t call anymore,” she said as she stood up. “And don’t buy me any more gifts.”

  Going home after my date with Stacey was like pouring lemon juice on an open wound.

  I stood on the sidewalk in front of the house for a solid fifteen minutes, forcing myself to document every reminder of her I had, starting with the outside of our home. The house itself was her doing, a cute tri-color bungalow that looked like a gingerbread house with a modern twist. Her curtains decorated the windows, custom ones she’d ordered even though we hadn’t bought the place. We’d signed a three-year lease, or rather, I’d signed it, which was why I’d be stuck here for another eighteen months, minimum.

  The outdoor decor was Stacey’s too, all of it failed sculptures or projects that’d never panned out. In addition to the faux barbed wire she’d called “anti-edging”—a failed entrepreneurial idea she’d dumped into the flowerbeds—two of her unsold sculptures stood in our front lawn. One was a seven-foot-tall flower, its stem made from a car bumper, its petals from garishly painted hubcaps, and its leaves from rearview mirrors. She’d called it Detroit Daisy. It was possibly her best work, which wasn’t saying much.

  The other was harder to describe. It was some kind of cross between a dinosaur and a chicken standing on one leg and wearing a cowboy boot. I’d forgotten its title. It was taller than me, and I thought it was horrific, but of course I’d never told her that. Both sculptures seemed to mock me as I made my way to the front door.

  The house was empty, of course. Stacey swore she was allergic to all animals—cats, dogs, and birds, anything I’d named. I’d always thought it was psychosomatic, but I’d never said anything about that either.

  The inside of the house was a little better, as Stacey’s taste in furniture was pretty standard, though each piece she’d selected reminded me of her. As I stood there feeling sorry for myself and my failures, I remembered how much I’d let her call the shots in our relationship, and I decided it was time for that to stop, since she wasn’t here anymore.

  My first act of defiance was to park my butt in front of the TV and zone out until it was time for bed. It was
n’t much, and I wasn’t sure it was exactly defiance since Stacey probably wouldn’t have told me I couldn’t do it, but it still felt good. Maybe it was defiance because I didn’t let myself spend the night obsessing over what I’d done wrong with her. As rebellions went, it was paltry, but I supposed we all had to start somewhere.

  Nick was nice enough not to ask about my date with Stacey the next morning, although I did catch him watching me out of the corner of his eye. I kept my head down and chose not to fill him in on how right he’d been.

  It was a shitty day at the office all around, not only because of my epic failure as a boyfriend the night before, but also because we had to put down two different animals that day. Both were old, and loved, one a cat who could no longer eat because of late-stage cancer, the other a dog whose arthritis had grown so bad he could barely stand. In both cases, it was probably for the best, but it still broke my heart. I was glad their owners both went back and held them as it was done. The ones who dropped the animals off and left always made me angry. Stacey had told me many times that I was too soft, and maybe it was true, because I hated to see any life having to end. Both times I ended up in the bathroom, washing the evidence of tears off my cheeks.

  I couldn’t quite face my empty house again after work. Instead, I grabbed the necklace and walked downtown to the heart of the Light District. It was a bit cooler than it had been the day before, but still plenty warm. As it did most Friday evenings, the mall buzzed with after-work energy. Later, it would give way to the drunken revelry of college-age kids, but for now, the crowd was slightly older, sharing a few drinks with coworkers before heading home for the weekend. The patio of the martini bar was full. Men in suits, women in skirts, one table of drinkers all wearing medical scrubs, toasting each other, laughing a bit too loud.

  Two violinists were playing an impromptu concert in the small amphitheater in the center of the square. Kids splashed in the fountain while their parents lounged in the sun on the stone steps, toes tapping to the rhythm. Not only to the music from the musicians, but to the entire ensemble—the drinkers, the shoppers, the kids shouting and giggling. The strings of lights overhead were beginning to twinkle on, even though it wasn’t yet dark. The bright earthy smell of the linden trees mingled with the scent of coffee and the sweet aroma of ice cream. Two men sat on a bench, kissing—not the lewd public affection so common among teenagers. It was sweeter than that. These men were a bit older, a bit more reserved. I imagined they were crazy in love.