The Bridegroom Comes: Chapter Nine

When it came to sex, Tracy was used to having the upper hand. So, it troubled him profoundly that he did not know what to do about Anton. He expected him to flee and was tempted to make a peremptory phone call: ‘We both know this was a mistake. It would be best that we not see each other again for a while.’ He could not bring himself to do it. To find himself waiting like some teenage girl for a phone call was maddening, and threw him into unprecedented paroxysms of self-loathing. Finally, the phone rang:
“Yes?”
“It’s Anton.”
Tracy made no reply.
“Tracy?”
“Look, save your breath. Whatever line you’ve prepared, I’ve delivered it myself a hundred times.”
“. . . I’d like to see you.”
“. . . .”
“Are you there?”
“Okay, I haven’t delivered that one. You’re full of surprises.”
“. . . Was the other day a surprise?”
“No. . . . I mean, it wasn’t something I’d carefully planned out, if that’s what you’re getting at. . . . How do you feel about it?”
“I don’t know. I want to see you again.”
“Okay.”
“But not there. At the Bistro.”
“Look, if this is going to be some long regret speech and goodbye, let’s get it over with now.”
“I’m not interested in saying goodbye. . . . Are you?”
“No. But, I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen, either. And I’m not interested in just being friends.”
“Would you like to know what I want?”
“Yeah.”
“Me, too. I want to figure that out. With you.” The last two words took even Anton by surprise.

* * *
As soon as Tracy walked through the door, Anton knew that Father Danieel had been right: He would fail the test. Not, though, as he might have feared: He would make the necessary sacrifice. In a sense, he would even do so from an undivided heart. The duty to attain justice for his mother had become an idée fixe that dwelt entirely in his head, ruling over his members. But, his heart was not in it: he could not love a God that required this sacrifice. Indeed, as many times as he had heard the word “love” pronounced, or pronounced it himself, at Church, at home, he could only now begin to attach some meaning to it: the particular arc his fingers had traced along Tracy’s collar bone, the brush of Tracy’s eyelashes against his chest, the sweet muskiness of skin below Tracy’s ribs. Anton’s eyes drank in the slightly disjointed rhythm with which Tracy walked across the room, registered the now-transparent cynicism which had returned to his lips. He found himself wishing he could suddenly vanish, taking the moment with him preserved like a fly in amber.
“Well, here I am.”
“Here you are.” Anton noted with irony the reversal. “Sit down; I already ordered your sandwich.”
“What’s this, already beginning to anticipate my habits? Careful, you might scare me off.” Tracy settled into his chair and leaned back, holding Anton in his gaze. “So, figured it out yet?”
“What?”
“What you want.”
“I don’t work that fast. Besides, I thought we agreed that was going to be a mutual project.”
“’Mutual’: Big word. You really are risking scaring me off.” Tracy’s eyebrows increased their arch.
“You sure you’re the one that presents the greatest flight risk? Who has the most to lose?”
“Well, let’s see: your wife and kids, my hardened image. It’s a draw.”
“Maybe.” As Anton’s hand reached for his coffee, Tracy intercepted it. Anton made no attempt to withdraw. “You have no idea how confusing this is.”
Tracy laced his fingers in Anton’s. “Does this feel confusing?”
“I don’t know how to make sense of it.”
“I said ‘feel,’not ‘think.’”
“I’m not very good at turning off my brain.”
“You did pretty well the other day.” Anton’s blush deflected Tracy’s cynicism. “I don’t want to hurt you. And to tell the truth, you scare the shit out of me. Seducing a straight man may be a popular fantasy, but I’ve never been one to mistake fantasy for reality. People get hurt that way.”
Anton steeled himself against the upsurge of guilt, his face flushing a deeper crimson. “I won’t lie to you, either: You could get hurt. I wouldn’t blame you for backing out.”
“You first.”
Anton looked down and fought to regain control.
“Here you are: the usual. A garden sandwich.” Both men were startled by the barista’s interruption. Tracy, flustered, relinquished Anton’s hand, annoyed at the sparkle in the young waiter’s eyes and his goofy smile. “Thanks,” he muttered, waiting impatiently for his withdrawal. “Herman says I’m a fool.”
“You told Herman?” Anton’s face flushed, first with panic, then anger.
“He’s my friend. Look, I’m not interested in forcing you out of the closet any faster than you’re prepared to go, but I’m not interested in climbing in myself, either. And what you said goes for me, too: You can back out whenever you want. No blame.”
“I don’t want to back out. At least, not yet.”
“So, where do we go from here?”
“You tell me. I’m the novice, remember?”
“Okay, then: My apartment.” Tracy’s eyes flashed.
Anton thought about raising the need to return to work, but didn’t. Tracy forgot about his sandwich.