Call of the Wild
by Helen "You're late," Casey said.
"Yes, I'm aware of that."
"A little tense this morning are we?"
"I'm not tense," Dan said, and shut his hand in his desk drawer
"Yes, because you often shut your hand in your desk drawer when you're relaxed."
"Don't you have someplace to be?"
"No."
Dan hummed John Phillips Sousa marches for half the morning, which he only did when he was upset.
"You okay?" Casey said, finally, pointedly.
"Fine."
"Did something happen while I was gone?"
"No."
"Nothing?"
"No."
"Because you were fine and now you're Alexander's One Man Band. The show went okay, right? Tina looked like she was doing fine."
"The show was good. She's very professional."
"She shot you down."
"No, she did not shoot me down; she would not have shot me down if I had asked her to. do something, which I didn't."
"Why not."
"Casey, I don't have to flirt with every woman around."
"Perhaps not, but you usually do."
"I'm not now."
"You know I'm seeing Abby."
"So you're not flirting because of her."
"I mean, professionally. She's my therapist."
"Yes."
"I hate it," Dan admitted.
"It's not supposed to be a merry carnival."
"I know, but it's making me act strangely with everyone. Except you, of course. Isaac accused me of flirting with him while you were gone."
"He did?"
"All but."
"But I'm okay."
"Yeah. Because I know you like me."
"Dan. I think you should just relax about this because therapy is. good."
"Therapy is good."
"It's therapeutic," Casey said.
"Right"
"Yes."
"You believe in therapy."
"I do."
"You believe in revealing your problems to total strangers while paying them."
"Yes."
"So you'd go to a therapist."
"In theory, yes."
"What about practice?"
"Well, I'm fine."
"That's good."
"So I don't need therapy," Casey clarified.
"Whereas I'm not fine."
"Well, no. It seems not."
"So you've noticed."
"Yes. You seem. a little not fine. Not completely unfine, I stipulate, but a little under the fineness barrier."
"How long?" Dan asked.
"Since December second."
"You noticed all that time ago."
"I did."
"So why didn't you say anything."
"You wanted me to say something?"
"I'm just interested in why you didn't."
"I—"
"I would have said something."
"So what—"
"In fact, on numerous occasions, I have said something, so I'm just—"
"I though we were doing the thing where we didn't say anything," Casey said.
"Why?"
"Because I thought you might cry if I said something." He stopped. "You looked like you might cry."
"And you didn't want me to cry—it's not okay for me to."
"No, Danny, no, will you shut up a minute? I thought you didn't want to cry, so I was helping you. not cry."
"Maybe I wanted to."
"Then do."
"Don't feel like it."
"Oh."
"I'm sort of past that stage," Dan said apologetically.
"What stage are you at now?"
"I don't know."
"Oh."
"I'll keep you posted."
"You do that."
"You hungry?"
"Not really."
"Me either."
"How's it going with Abby," Casey said, a few days later.
"She's somewhat resistant to my advances." Dan smirked, then shook his head. "No, it's going okay."
"That worries you."
"No, it doesn't worry me."
"Of course it does; now instead of looking like you're going to cry, you look worried."
"Do you think that's progress?"
"It's possible."
"It's just strange; it's worrisome. It's. I don't like that this came along right now; it's as though my subconscious is lying in wait, like a lion in the veldt."
"Actually, lions usually feed off of other animals' kills; the hyena for instance—"
"Great; that's metaphor enhancement right there," Dan said sourly.
"I repeat; you need to relax. Nothing bad is going to happen."
"Have you thought about moonlighting as a smoking cessation audio tape guy?"
"What could happen; she digs deep into your subconscious and discovers you're gay?"
"What?"
"Nothing," Casey said quickly.
"No, the. gay? What are you talking about?"
"It was just hypothetical; I picked it out of the air," Casey said, making picking—things—out—of—the—air gestures.
"Why would you say something like that?"
"It was just an example."
"I know. Picked out of the air.
"Correct."
"My air. The air in the general vicinity of my head."
"Exactly. No—"
"Why—"
"Fine, you know, she discovers you really don't like sports, then."
"No, I'm—"
"Hey hey," Dana said, leaning in the door, "Are you guys planning on going to the run through or are you just going to sit here?"
Dan caught up with Casey in the hallway after the run through
"So do you think it's likely that I'll find out I'm gay."
"No, as a matter of fact, I don't."
"Then why did you say so?"
"I didn't say so. Actually, I think I implied that it was extremely unlikely."
"But you brought it up."
"Yes."
"So it's on your mind."
"Yes, Danny, your hypothetical sexual leanings are much on my mind of late; look, it was just a serendipitous conjunction."
"I don't believe in serendipity."
"You work on a sports show, Danny, you believe in serendipity," Casey told him."
"What, that's required?"
"The third baseman's shoelace breaks on the deciding run of the deciding game of the series, the Russian women's volleyball players get food poisoning, the last desperate hurled free throw in a—"
"Okay. Yes, thank you. I have to believe in serendipity."
"Yes."
"Oh."
"Coincidence," Casey said firmly.
But the next weekend, after they had watched a football game and eaten turkey sandwiches and were watching the end of a Simpson's rerun, the first part of which had been pre—empted by the end of the game, Casey flicked off the television and said,
"So maybe there was a reason.
"That the Raiders didn't win?"
"No."
"Then—"
"The gay. thing. Last week."
"There was a reason."
"Yes."
"It wasn't serendipity; this is what you're telling me."
"Exactly."
"Query: do I still have a believe in serendipity?"
"Yes, you do. It's just that the. that wasn't serendipity."
"I see," Dan said. "You know, I know my relationships with women don't always pan out, or, really, if you want to be accurate, don't ever work out, but that's not reason to think that my subconscious is shielding me from the fact that I'm gay."
"No, it's not. And I apologize." Casey nodded and then got up and took their plates into the kitchen; he came back with two beers and handed one to Dan, who took a sip and then said,
"Wait wait wait wait what?"
"Wait what what?"
"I don't get you," Dan said. "I don't get this gay thing you have."
"Hm?"
"I mean, I still don't get. Casey. Are you gay?"
"Not. per se, no."
"So."
"But I've had the odd thought," Casey said quietly.
"The odd gay thought?"
"Sort of."
"Was it about Jeremy? Because there's something about the glasses. They bring Clark Kent to mind."
"They do, don't they."
"But it might just be that Natalie looks a lot like Lois Lane."
"No she doesn't."
"Not from the movie; the animated series. Except she doesn't wear that white pleated skirt thing."
"I see."
"Something about the hair," Dan said thoughtfully.
"The thought wasn't about Jeremy."
"Oh."
"It was more along the lines of you having a gay thought."
"But I thought you were the one having gay thoughts."
"First, not thoughts. Just thought. Second, my thought was about your thought."
"I don't have a thought."
"I know," Casey said patiently. "Hypothetically, your thought."
"Why would I be having a gay thought?"
"I don't know, really."
"What would I do with a gay thought?"
"I. You'd come over to my place."
"Why?"
"So you could tell me about it."
"Oh. What for?"
Casey raised his hand and almost touched Dan's hair, and then his hand dropped to Dan's cheek and he leaned over and kissed him, carefully, fingers just under the rim of Dan's jaw, tipping his head up.
"So I could do that."
"oh."
Casey cleared his throat. Dan looked at his hands.
"Do you want another beer or something," Casey said.
"No, I'm fine."
"Um."
"Look, I should go," Dan said, giving Casey a hasty nervous smile. "I promised Art Feldshire I'd play racquetball with him tonight."
"You hate racquetball."
"I know. I also hate Art Feldshire. but. well."
"Yup."
"Okay."
Dan buzzed him after he left from the intercom below.
"Casey," he said.
"What?"
"Um. See you tomorrow."
"Yeah. Sure."
"We should talk about this." Dan said at six o'clock.
"I agree."
"Okay, then—" Dan said, and started to stand up.
"I have to go. talk to Natalie about some editing thing that we need to," Casey said, and left before he finished the sentence. Dan caught up to him by seven.
"Do we have different definitions of talking?"
"I don't know."
"Casey."
"Dan, it's a basic philosophical issue: the problem of other minds, and hardly solvable in the 7 minutes we have until we have to be meeting Jeremy.
So you think it was a mistake."
"I—"
"Just let me ask you; how often did you have the thought. about my thought."
"Not all that often. Occasionally." He swallowed. "You have. your mouth."
"Come home with me tonight."
"Okay."
They left the building together, riding down silently in the elevator, and then, back up again in Dan's building. Casey stood back while Dan opened the door and flung his coat on the couch. The apartment was dark, except for the oven hood light. Dan walked into the kitchen and ran a glass of water.
"We shouldn't be doing this," Casey said, following him.
"Probably not." Dan turned around and leaned again the counter.
"Because you're not; I know you're not okay."
"I'm not okay," Dan nodded.
"And I'm actually not sure this is the most supportive thing for me to be doing."
"I think it's supportive."
"Or it's taking advantage."
"It might be both."
"Also, Isaac might kill us."
"Well, I'm not going to tell Isaac."
"Good, good," Casey said. Dan handed him the half full glass of water and he drank the rest of it.
"What about Dana, speaking of?"
"What about her?"
"Aren't you. sort of."
"What? We aren't doing anything."
"The thing where you might be doing something."
"We're not doing that either."
"oh."
"But, back to what I was saying before, which was,"
"Casey, I'm not. I'm okay. I'm a little fucked up, right now, but you aren't gonna fuck me up worse by. ahem. fucking me."
Casey blushed.
"That's what we're talking about, right? Oh god. That's not what we're talking—"
"Danny, of course it's what we're talking about."
"Okay, then."
"I just think this isn't a decision to be made lightly—"
"You've been thinking about it for years—"
"On the basis of one kiss—"
"We can—"
"There wasn't even really any tongue." Casey said, gesturing accusatorily with the water glass.
"Let's do that now," Dan said softly.
"All right.
Dan straightened up and gave Casey a nervous smile, and then took one deliberate step towards him, crowding him against the kitchen counter a little. Casey took half a step backwards and bumped against the counter and put his hand on Dan's waist and bent his neck down a little. Dan slid a hand around his neck and pulled him down further and Casey thought, fleetingly, I didn't know he was so short, although Danny was far and away the tallest person he had ever kissed, had ever opened his mouth for, twined his hand in the shirt of, had ever let suck on his tongue. He pulled Dan in closer, hands sliding up to his shoulderblades and Dan leaned against him, pressing him into the counter.
"Casey," Dan said hoarsely.
"What."
"You wanna take off your tie?"
"I want to take off your tie," Casey said, and did. He unbuttoned Dan's shirt and pulled it off his shoulders and said,
"I'm worried about this."
"Who isn't?"
"Because we're leaping into it."
"I'm still wearing an undershirt."
"And I believe in caution."
"Yet you're barely ever cautious."
"Under normal circumstances I would argue with you."
"I know."
"But I think we can agree that these aren't normal circumstances," Casey said, "so I'm just going to, um," and Dan was nuzzling back in for a kiss, loosening Casey's tie, pulling his shirt out of his pants, "go to bed with you."
"oh good," Dan said. "Have you ever done this," he said, pulling Casey towards his bedroom.
"Yes."
"That's good. That's. I haven't."
"Danny, have you really thought this through? Because I'm not sure if—"
"Casey, what, are we gonna do something really bizarre that I haven't ever heard of? Correct me if I'm wrong; I might be, really, and after all, you have the experience, but we're gonna take off our clothes and touch each other, right. You might touch my ass, I might touch your dick, by the way, I finally figured out why I always notice your nipples when you're just wearing an undershirt." He had pulled Casey into the bedroom and was shucking off his pants and shoes.
"Oh?" Casey said faintly, unbuttoning his pants.
"Yes."
"Always?"
"A lot. It appears my subconscious has been at work." Dan pulled off his underwear and Casey came quickly across the room and kissed him with some force, shoving him down into a sitting position on the bed, prying his thighs apart and stepping between them. Dan wrapped his arms around his waist and shoved Casey's pants down and Casey roughly broke the kiss and yanked them the rest of the way off and climbed onto the bed, on top of Dan.
"I'm gonna blow your mind," he mumbled, burying his face in Dan's neck.
"That wasn't really the portion of the anatomy I was hoping for," Dan said breathlessly.
"Shut up," Casey said, but he was already sliding down Dan's body.
"Okay."
When he woke up, Dan wasn't there, but the bedroom door was slightly ajar, and he got up and put on Dan's robe and went out to find Dan leaning his face against the window.
"Hey."
"Hey," Dan said. His voice sounded rusty.
"What're you thinking about?"
"Trying to decide what to tell Abby."
"oh."
"Casey, I just think it might look bad." He turned his face slightly, as if to look at Casey, but not enough that their eyes might meet.
"Oh, because you don't want to look bad," Casey said quickly.
"No. Look, she tells me I'm worried about people liking me and then I go and sleep with my best friend."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be; I really. I enjoyed it."
"Well, yes. I know."
"But I don't know if. Casey. I'm sorry."
"S'okay."
"I—."
"I should go."
"yeah," Dan said quietly. Casey turned around and went back into the bedroom, drawing his clothes on quickly, not bothering to button his shirt before pulling on his sweater over it. Dan was standing uncertainly in the middle of the room when he came out. Casey put on his coat and checked his pocket for his gloves and Dan sighed said,
"This is going to look really fucked up and needy right now, but you aren't mad."
"No."
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah, you said that," Casey said shortly.
"It doesn't really have to mean anything."
"I know."
"Like when you. and Sally. That wasn't a big deal."
"Just like that," Casey said, but his voice sounded funny.
"Oh, god, please, Case, I'm sorry, you don't have to go."
"No, you're right. It's okay." And Dan's breathing had changed dangerously, although Casey couldn't really see his face in the dark. "Danny, hey, hey. Not the end of the world," he said, and opened the door.
"Okay, now I'm back to the crying phase," Dan mumbled, but he gave Casey a pinched smile as he closed the door behind him
"Did you tell her?" Casey asked the next day. He couldn't help it.
"What?"
"It's none of my business, but did you tell her? Abby." He clarified. "You saw her today, right?"
"No."
"No, you didn't see her?"
"No, I didn't tell her."
"You didn't."
"It didn't come up."
"It didn't."
"No."
"Why didn't it come up?"
"Well, I told her about the flirting or the not flirting or the."
"The what? The. what?"
"I've been not flirting with women."
"I see."
"So that was it."
"And you thought that was more significant."
"Not significant. Of the moment. Appropriate."
"Because therapy is all about what's pertinent."
"You know all that buried drive Freud stuff you're so keen on—"
"Well, I wouldn't say keen—"
"There isn't one scrap of evidence that it's true."
"Any more than I might say peachy or gee whillikers."
"Did you hear me?"
"Yes, yes, Freud, who only informs the entire Western consciousness is a load of hooey. I heard you."
"I'm just saying, stop telling me what to talk about in therapy."
"I'm only trying to point out that you may be omitting certain important points."
"Maybe you should get therapy to deal with them; I'm not having a problem."
"Why'd you do it, then."
"um."
"I mean, we've known each other for quite some time and managed to avoid jumping each other's bones, so it must have been something."
"Well. You were."
"Danny. Did you think you had to sleep with me to. to. keep on being my friend?"
"No, of course not. No. God. No."
"Oh my god," Casey said, standing up. He picked up his coffee cup and headed out the door.
"Casey. It wasn't like that. Casey. Wait up."
He caught up to him in one of the small film editing rooms. Casey was resolutely watching the some Jets/Steelers highlights and taking notes.
"I think we'd get a lot more accomplished if you didn't take off every time I tried to have a conversation with you."
"Sure."
"I'm supposed to be the one with problems."
"Supposed to, nothing."
"I can't do this if you won't look at me."
"Great. Go ahead; tell me how sorry you are again." Casey swiveled the chair around and crossed his arms.
"I wanted it," Dan said. Behind Casey's head, the Steelers made a touchdown.
"Okay," Casey said. "Let's just forget about it. One of those not our finest hour things."
"We're good?"
"Yeah, we're good."
And then they had to go cover a championship basketball game in Buffalo, where they were booked, with typical extravagance, into a double room.
"Classy," Dan said.
"Window bed or door bed?" Casey said, "Keeping in mind that having the window bed will make it utterly impossible for me to sleep properly, given that the window beds are the most often used, and thus the most infested with microbes."
"I'll take the door bed."
"Right."
It was viciously cold in Buffalo, too cold to snow, even, and the snow already on the ground was hard and dirty. Sports Night had only been assigned one seat in the press box, so they had to take turns standing. Neither of them felt like going out after the games: the first night they tumbled into separate beds and the second night they drank nearly all the scotch in the minibar and ended up necking in Dan's bed, and Dan slid his hands up under Casey's shirt and kissed his throat and Casey said, "You can, um, fuck me if you want."
"Okay," Dan said. He nodded a few times, and then put his hands back on Casey's shirt, tugging the last few buttons undone. His fingers slid down to Casey's pants and he undid them and slid them off down his legs. "Man, your legs," he said, almost to himself. "You've got really long legs, Case," he said, and palmed a kneecap, stroking his hand up Casey's thigh.
Casey sat up and pulled off his shirt, then said, "You too," and Dan slid off the bed and slid off his clothes and pawed through his suitcase for a minute and came up with a condom and some hand cream.
"You brought a condom?" Casey said.
"Just. It was already in there."
"You brought hand cream?"
"My hands get dry. Is this gonna erode the condom or anything?"
"I don't know."
"It's not that I think that you're, you know, that, um," He crawled across the bed to kneel between Casey's legs. "It just seems polite," he said, putting the condom next to Casey's hip.
"One must strive for politeness," Casey said. "Is that the right word; that's not the right word."
"Civility," Dan said, and kissed his stomach.
"That's it."
They didn't speak about it the next day, although they woke up in the same bed, Casey's head on Dan's stomach. Dan had woken up some time before him, Casey could tell, the heartbeat beneath his head at faster than sleeping rhythm. An inch from his eye, Dan's nipple looked huge, strange, monstrous. They took showers and had aspirin, had to take the train back from Buffalo because of copious snowfall during the night.
That Casey, of all people, should be good in bed, Dan thought. But that was the wrong way of putting it, because of course Casey was good in bed; Casey was good at almost everything. It was obvious that he wouldn't be bad, or clumsy or smelly. More, really, that he should be hot, that the whole thing should be hot, those long limbs wrapped across his thighs, Casey, restless, panting, hair damp and dark, mouth open, one hand gripping his arm. He wished he hadn't been quite so drunk. He might have then asked just who had Casey been fucked by before, and when had he had the time? He spent a lot of time these days sifting through guys he knew Casey knew and trying to picture them together, trying to picture Casey saying to them, "You can fuck me, if you want." Which made him sound like a charity case, like a pity fuck, which it absolutely had not been, because Casey's dick had been hard and he'd moaned, and he'd started the whole thing in the first place, sitting on the end of Dan's bed and stealing the last of his scotch . Kissing him.
He should have asked these things the next morning, but they'd slept too late and almost missed the train and the only thing they'd really had time to say to each other were things like, "Got the keys?" and "You left your toothbrush in the bathroom." and there were too many people on the train. He tried to catch Casey's eye and give him a smile; he wanted it to be a secret smile, an acknowledging smile, but Casey only smiled back at him in a normal way and handed him the front page of the newspaper.
And then, as if to belabor the point:
"Oh shit," Dan said, hunching his shoulders.
"What?"
"Art Feldshire, ten o'clock."
"If you didn't insist on coming to the same bar every time, this wouldn't happen. Or you could just tell him you hated him," Casey said.
Art slid into a seat next to Dan, poking him companionably in the chest and giving Casey a prefunctory nod. "Dan: you seeing anyone lately?"
"I. um. no."
"Because I am going to fix you up."
"That's really not necessary, that's, um."
"She's a translator for the UN and she has these incredible legs."
"Legs."
"Incredible. Elegant," Art said, and described curves in the air with his hands while Dan and Casey didn't look at each other.
"Two minutes to air," Dana said.
"Casey, is that a hickey?" Natalie asked from the production room.
"What?"
"On your neck; is that a hickey?"
"Certainly not."
"I think it is."
"What's going on?" Jeremy's voice.
"Casey has a hickey."
"I do not."
"I can see it from here," Jeremy said.
"You're one to talk, Goodwin, after all the suck marks you've shown up with," Casey said.
"First, I'm not in front of the camera, and second, so you admit it's a hickey."
"It's not a hickey and you can't see it because television makeup can cover up a bullet wound, so I doubt you could see a small hickey, even if it were a hickey, which it's not."
"It's not a hickey," Dan said, unconvincingly, a little too loudly. Casey's head twitched momentarily towards him.
It was a hickey; it wasn't the only one, although it was the only one that showed above the collar. There was another one near his nipple and on his shoulder. Dan had seen them before Casey had pulled his shirt on that morning. He didn't have any. This seemed incredible to him—he hadn't really thought about it until the broadcast, but that night in his apartment, he stripped off his shirt and looked for evidence that it had happened at all. There was nothing; no fingernail marks, no hickeys. His lips a little tender perhaps, but that was gone now. He rested his hands on the sink and looked again, touched the place above his nipple where Casey's hickey had been.
Casey's above collar hickey hadn't completely faded the next day, although you wouldn't be able to see it unless you knew it was there. The faint mark irked him; and Casey was in ultra productive mode, tippity—tapping away at his keyboard, smiling silently to himself.
So where had he learned to do it, Dan thought, flipping with increasing violence through the papers on his desk. It had seemed easy that night, too easy, he realized now, where it should have been awkward or strange. It hadn't even been all that strange the first time they'd done it; only he'd been awkward. Casey had been easy about it, he had known what he was doing, Casey bending pliantly under him, arching his neck for a kiss, for that hickey right there.
Dan finished half of his script and then said.
"So are you leading some kind of double life?"
"What?"
"I mean, do you, have you. Are you sleeping with a lot of guys?"
"No."
"But you have."
"Why do you want to know?"
"Do you go to bars or something? I mean, last I checked you weren't exactly even flush with acquaintances. In fact, the only people you ever meet are the guys you do interviews with; which begs the question: just how exclusive is an exclusive interview with Casey McCall?"
"Just because I'm not rampaging through the female population like the flu virus doesn't mean I sleep with every guy I see."
"No, what, do you go back to their hotel rooms with them after?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I hardly think sports figures are going to sleep with a news anchor."
"Why not? You both have the same stake in keeping it a secret," Dan said. Casey ignored him. "I just think it's a little dishonest that's all," he said, a little more loudly
"Oh. Well I'm sorry, you know," Casey snapped. "Do you want me to throw out this masterful introduction I've written for my interview this afternoon and just go with "And today I'll be speaking with Andrew Charpentier, not only an excellent goalie, but a hell of a lay?"
"You slept with him?"
"Yes."
"Oh," Dan said, who hadn't meant it. Really, the idea of Casey sleeping with anyone, let alone having one night stands with athletes, was difficult to believe. And now, it was as though he'd willed it into being, as if by saying it, he'd made it so.
"I think you shouldn't say that, by the way," he said, conciliatorily, trying to smile.
"Oh, so what you really mean by objecting to my glamorous double life is you don't want me doing anything you don't know about."
"You didn't have to lie to me."
"It wasn't any of your business."
"Now it is."
"Maybe," Casey said harshly, and bent his head over his desk.
"Dan, I need you to do that Andrew Charpentier interview," Dana said, leaning into their door.
"What?"
"But I was going to do it," Casey said.
"I know, but you need to do this one with the bowling guy."
"Can't Dan do it?"
"Dan doesn't know anything about bowling; and he asked for you anyway, so you're doing it."
"Is this one of these pointless decisions you use to reinforce your authority?" Casey said.
"Got it in one," Dana said, and trotted away.
It was unfortunate, Dan thought, that he'd already used up his quota of melodramatic freakouts with the Kafelnikov thing, because it would, no doubt, be great television if one of the Sports Night news anchors got in a fist fight with an interviewee because said interviewee had alledgedly slept with the other Sports Night news anchor.
"Hi, I'm Dan Rydell," he said.
"Yeah, I know. I watch the show—you guys are really good." Andrew Charpentier smiled at him and shook his hand.
"Um, thanks."
"So you're doing the interview."
"Yeah; Casey's doing some bowling thing."
"You think he's gonna be busy later?"
"Actually, I think he is," Dan said vaguely.
"That's too bad, I was hoping we could go out for drinks or something."
"Drinks," said Dan.
"Yeah." He fiddled with his microphone for a minute, and then said, "You know, I sort of expected you to be more talkative."
"Oh."
"So, do you know about Casey—I'm gonna be in town tomorrow, too."
"Look, if you wanna go for drinks, I'll go with you," Dan blurted.
"Okay." He looked surprised, but pleased. He didn't have one of those stupid hockey haircuts.
Dan more or less shoved him out the door of the studio, making up some lie about how he couldn't stay and wait, and agreeing to meet him in the bar of his hotel; avoiding Casey wasn't easy, although it was made easier by the fact that Casey was obviously refusing to talk to him more than was strictly necessary. He got to the hotel at twelve forty-five and the bar was dark and warm and they sat in the corner and had a drink. And, in retrospect, it was embarrassing, how long it took him to realize what he was doing, even after Andrew bought him a drink, even after he said, " hey, you wanna get out of here, you wanna have a beer in my room or something, the smoke's kinda getting to me," and he said "yeah, sure." It took him that long, so here he was, sitting in the huge overstuffed sofa, drinking a beer and wondering if he would get beat up if he didn't put out.
How could this happen, that homosexual sex could suddenly become a fixture of his life? He hadn't had sex with a woman in two months.
"I always ask for this room when I come here," Andrew said. He had an engaging toothy grin. "I like the view."
So he'd probably done it with Casey in this bed. He wondered if they'd talked first, if Andrew had slammed him up against the door and kissed him
"Dan. um." Andrew said. He had taken off his tie and his shoes and was leaning against the window looking out. "You seem a little nervous."
"Oh?"
"We don't have to have sex, you know."
"Well, that's sort of a relief, now—
"We could just give each other blow jobs or something. If you want."
"Well, here's the thing. I've never actually done that."
"Hm. Wanna learn how?" There it was again, that smile, and Dan thought, this guy is a nice guy. He's gonna let me get up and walk out of here, no harm done.
"Okay," he said.
"Don't we have a meeting?" Casey said, looking confusedly up at him as he came into the conference room. Casey had started talking to him again, then. Although, since they were the only people in the room, perhaps it didn't really count.
"Cancelled," Dan said, swinging the door shut behind him.
"Why?"
"Senior Production had some off site thing—didn't you get the memo? Make—up and crew aren't here yet and everyone else went to the twenty-seventh floor to try to crash that champagne retiring thing for that guy."
"All right," Casey said and started to get up, but Dan pushed his shoulder and he fell back into the chair.
"What are you doing."
"I'm gonna suck you off," Dan said firmly, and slid to his knees.
"What? No." Casey said, as Dan slipped the button at his waistband and worked the zipper down. "Come on. Stop it." he said, weakly. "Oh," he said, and slid a careful hand across the spiky short hair on the back of Dan's head, rubbed a thumb over the ridge of his skull. "You're such a jerk," he said softly, and spread his thighs obediently wider as Dan pushed on them.
And afterwards Casey just stared at him and then zipped himself up and left. Dan got up slowly and followed.
"Who taught you how to do that," Casey said tonelessly, without preamble, when he walked into their office.
"Andrew Charpentier."
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
"I just wanted to pay you back for."
"You don't need to. Just cut it out."
"I only—" Dan took a step towards him.
"Don't fucking touch me," Casey said. He was slowly turning red. Dan swung the door roughly shut and said,
"This would be more convincing if you'd done it before you came in my mouth."
"Don't use me and make out like it's my fault."
"Whose dick was just in whose mouth?"
"No, don't use me to prove that you're desirable or whatever."
"That what you think? Fucked up Danny strikes again, right? Come on," he said, but couldn't stop his voice from shaking. "What about. What about fucked up Casey, huh? What about that 'you can fuck me" shit?"
"What about it?"
"You can do it but I can't—I wish you'd stop hovering over my mental health like a fucking buzzard. If I want to give you a blow job, for Christ's sake, then I—"
"I just don't want to do this on again off again shit, Danny."
"You started it, you came on to me, you kissed me, you started the whole thing with your gay thought."
"So what."
"What do you mean so what?"
"So, I started it, so what? You go around looking like someone crushed your puppy for weeks and you're right, I guess, sleeping with you probably wasn't the best thing I could have done, but that's no reason to—"
"To keep on doing it?"
"Yes." Casey said, but he looked ashamed.
"Did you spend the night with Andrew Charpentier?" He asked some hours later.
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"I don't know," Dan said. And then, "I'm sorry."
"Why should you be? It's not as though we're. anything."
But it still felt like cheating, of course, in retrospect.
"I think I might be gay," he told Abby.
"Why do you think that," she said.
"I've slept with two men in the last month," he said.
"Okay," she said.
"Okay," what?
"Okay, it's not an unfounded suspicion," she said.
To Casey, he tried to be nice; it was never an effort he'd had to make before, but now he was increasingly aware of himself, of how he seemed to take up too much space in the office, and Casey looked good, as if he were sleeping, and he found himself struggling to keep his mouth shut when some Philadelphia halfback who Casey knew from way back when showed up and whacked him on the back and took him out for drinks, found himself examining the quirks of Casey's mouth, face, the way he shouldered on his jacket for any resemblance to the way he'd acted when they were going home together, but he couldn't remember anything of that first night, only the crushing excitement and disbelief, the one frozen second before Casey had kissed him, and they way they'd held on to each other, like nothing that had ever happened to him before; like something he should have known all along.
In time, (which made it sound, Dan thought, like months, like years, but it was only a few weeks. Two weeks. A week and a half, really, if you wanted to get into exact figures) he started to feel slighted by how easily Casey had agreed to stop, and his refrigerator and his clock radio taunted him. No, this was a lie; somehow it seemed better to be going a little crazy than to tell the truth, which was that he had spent a not inconsiderable amount of time thinking about the sheer bulk of Andrew Charpentier; he'd never worried about being a little guy before—he'd never actually been a little guy. Also: Andrew Charpentier really knew how to give a blow job.
"Do you think I'm unstable?" Dan asked, looking up from his computer.
"No," Casey said automatically.
"I don't mean unstable as in a maniacal killer or anything."
"I didn't think you did; why—are you planning to maniacally kill someone?"
"I don't mean unstable as in crazy, is what I'm saying."
"What do you mean?"
"Someone who can't settle down; on whom others can't count."
"No," Casey said again.
"hm."
And that night, he found himself knocking on Casey's door:
"If that's true, if I'm so dependable, then—no, wait, that's not the question at all. Why are you perfectly happy with whatever freaky on again off again arrangements you apparently have with men who play for sports teams all over the country and you don't want to with me?"
"I really wish you'd stop carrying on as though I were some gigolo to the stars," Casey said tiredly.
"I wish you'd stop changing the subject."
"Do you think we could just stop this now with a preemptive apology? I'm sorry: I started it, I kissed you, I shouldn't have, will that do?" Casey leaned against the door and crossed his arms.
"No."
"Then what do you want?"
"I thought you wanted to; I mean, forgive me for misinterpreting, but you seemed to enjoy—"
"I did."
"Then—"
"Danny, I love you, you know that. But if we keep going to bed together I'm gonna be in love with you."
"What?"
"You heard me."
"I—"
"I know. Which is why you really need to stop this. I'm sorry I started it."
"You'd give up women."
"yeah."
"For me."
Casey said nothing
"With the skin and the breasts and hair that smells good."
"Well, you do have skin."
"It's just, I know my hair doesn't really smell good. It doesn't smell bad, I assume, but."
"I mean this in the nicest possible way, but could you leave?" Casey said.
"Oh. Okay."
Casey picked up on the second ring.
"Just to clarify; it wasn't my dick," Dan said.
"No. Your dick's fine."
"Is there. Is there anything you need?" Dan asked the next day. Casey didn't pretend to not know what he was talking about.
"No. But."
"What?"
"Could you tell Abby about me?"
"Why?"
"Because it would make me feel better."
"I don't think the point of my therapy is to make you feel better."
"Fine."
"No, you're right. I'll tell her."
"Well don't feel like you have to; I mean, it would probably put a damper on your, um, designs on her."
"Probably so."
"What the hell is going on with you and Casey?" Natalie demanded, buttonholing him after a meeting.
"Nothing."
"And by nothing, you mean."
"I mean nothing."
"Did you guys have a fight?"
"No."
"Buffalo," she said decisively.
"What?"
"What happened in Buffalo?"
"Nothing."
"Wait a minute, Casey got a hickey."
"That wasn't a hickey."
"Now, I realize that I was sucked into Dana's wishful thinking about that hickey; is Casey even actually allergic to strawberries?"
"Cashews."
"Whatever. The point being that Dana decided it was an allergy, but now I realize it's the key."
"The key to what?"
"Casey went off with some woman that you were after and you are miffed."
"I'm not miffed."
"No, you're miffed."
"That's not what happened at all."
"What happened."
"We ate cashews; Casey got a rash," Dan said blandly.
"How would that make you miffed?" Natalie said searchingly.
"I'm not miffed."
"I remain unconvinced," she said, and stalked away.
The most difficult thing was that Casey wasn't angry at him; this made him angry. He'd had a fair number of women be almost in love with him and they avoided him or shot him angry glances or showed up crying at his apartment, and that wasn't even counting the stalkers, but Casey did none of these things. So was Casey really in love with him, he wondered, and knew that wasn't the question he ought to be worried about. Casey didn't lie, anyway.
"I don't know what I want," he told himself, but he knew that wasn't the problem either.
"Suppose," he said to Abby.
"Yes?"
"Never mind," he said.
"What am I, the dog to you," he said, one day.
"Um. No?" Casey said, raising an eyebrow.
"The summer I was ten, the next door neighbor's dog got out and came over and ate my rabbit and everyone just shrugged because it was the fucking call of the wild or something. Wasn't his fault."
"Yes," Casey said attentively.
"So, is that what you think about me?"
"That you're the call of the wild?"
"That I just can't help sexually exploiting people so it's okay."
"You don't do that."
"Sometimes I do; but I didn't with you.. I didn't mean to."
"You didn't."
"I told Abby about you."
"You did?"
"I wanted to tell her how you were my best friend and how I felt like shit for jerking you around but I. I just ended up telling her how you didn't want to have sex with me anymore."
"Dan."
"I can't stop thinking about it. I think I'm a little obsessed with you."
"I don't think—"
"See it's just hard for you to tell because we spend so much time together; if I were some other person who was obsessed with you, you'd notice."
"What do you want from me? You wanna be exclusive? You wanna date," Casey said mockingly.
"Yeah, that'd be okay."
"I don't believe you."
"See, you really do believe I'm the dog."
"No I don't."
"No, you think I'm incapable of—"
"You're not gay."
"Not until recently."
"You're going to consider yourself gay."
"I spend a lot of time thinking about your dick, Casey, it's something of a moot point, don't you think?"
"I don't know."
"I love you."
"Shut up."
"You can fuck me. I mean. I want you to."
"Look—"
"I know I'm fucked up and everything, but frankly, you seem to like that."
"This isn't a Pet Shop Boys song," Casey said sharply
"Can we go out," Dan said, ignoring him.
"Can we talk about this later?"
"Later on a date?"
"I said later."
"Later, someplace without glass walls?"
"You're pushy."
"I think you like that too"
"Okay," Casey said.
"Okay, what."
"Okay, let's get down."
"Meaning?"
"Let's lead a double life."
"Glamorous."
"What?"
"A glamorous double life; I'm not doing it if it's not glamorous."
"Depends on your definition of glamorous."
"Mine has full frontal nudity."
"Sounds good." They smiled at each other.
"Can we go make out in the bathroom?" Dan asked.
"No, we can't; just what aspect of 'double life' is escaping you here?"
"Please. Just this once. I want to touch you."
"Well. Then come over here and give me a manly hug," Casey said, standing. Dan walked over flung his arms around him, slid a secret kiss onto his neck.
"I'm still going to require a few passionate protestations of love," Casey mumbled against his cheek.
"Right."
"Someplace without glass walls."
"Yup."
(end)