The Mating of Michael (6 page)

The next morning he awoke to agonizing pain. His head felt like someone was hitting it with a huge hammer, like in the roadrunner cartoons. His mother gave him aspirin and rocked him on the bed while James screamed and screamed. He got so hot he was burning up, and then he would get cold and shake all over. He ached everywhere, but especially his legs. It felt like they were being twisted and squeezed by an invisible giant. And his lower back was on fire. His mother kissed him, whispered soothing things in his hair, and gave him more pills. She bathed him with a cool rag. She talked worriedly with someone at the foot of his bed, but he didn’t know who it was and he was too sick to care. He cried and cried.

On the third day, James woke up in the morning and found his mother deeply asleep on the cot next to him. He felt terribly weak, but he had to go to the bathroom so bad! He swung his legs out of the bed, stood—and fell to the floor. He cried out in fear and surprise. His mother sat up.

“James? What is it?”

“Momma, my legs don’t work!”

Seattle, February, 2014

“W
ATCH
OUT
today,” Jasmine said under her breath as she let Michael in. “The queen is in a nasty old mood.”

“Is she feeling bad?” Michael asked worriedly as he set down his bag. Jasmine was a five-foot nurse of Hawaiian descent who was round as a nested doll. She was a nice person and, Michael assumed, a good nurse, but she and Marnie never got along.

“No change,” Jasmine said with exasperation. “Her blood pressure’s been fine today, and she had a bowl of chicken noodle soup and some toast for lunch. Just feeling her ever-lovin’ oats. She’s been asking for you. I swear, if I hear ‘When is Michael coming?’ in that petulant tone one more time—”

“I got it,” Michael assured Jasmine with a smile. “Go on home and relax.”

“It’ll take me a big-ass margarita to relax after
this
day,” Jasmine muttered as she left the house.

Michael went in to check on Marnie. She looked like she was sleeping, lying on her side in bed. But he stood there for a moment, and sure enough, she peeked with one eye. “Michael!” she said, coming vibrantly to life.

“Hey, Miss Thing.” He went over and kissed her cheek. “I hear you’ve been giving Jasmine a world of grief.”

“She’s boring!” Marnie struggled to sit up. “She wants to yammer on about her grandchildren and never lets me do anything fun.”

Michael helped her to sit, being careful not to hold her fragile upper arms too tightly. She bruised so easily.

“Take this thing off me,” Marnie demanded, pushing weakly at the afghan that had been covering her up.

Michael did and whistled at her ensemble. “Aren’t you looking fierce today?”

As usual, Marnie was
dressed
. She’d been a burlesque dancer in the forties, and she had the pictures to prove it. She still had an unusual sense of style. Today she wore tight lime green leggings and a leopard print slinky top with a low “V” neckline. Her hair was a bouffant bleached blonde that she had done every Monday. Her makeup was thick and obviously applied by a shaky hand—dark outlining around the eyes, mascara, white face powder, and heavy rouge. Her freshly applied red lipstick showed she’d been waiting for Michael to arrive. He’d never been on morning duty with Marnie, but he’d heard the nurses tell horror stories about how difficult she was to get bathed and dressed. Michael admired her enormously for making the effort. At eighty-nine, Marnie needed in-home nursing care from sunup to sundown, but she refused to give up on fashion.

“I’m tired of being in bed. Let’s go out to the living room and pretend we’re sophisticated society folks,” she said brightly, giving Michael a crooked red smile.

“Marnie, you’ll always be sophisticated society.” Michael helped Marnie to her walker, and then helped her settle on the couch, propping pillows on either side so she didn’t have to hold herself up.

“Perfect,” Marnie said with a sigh. “Now get us both a big old glass of wine and let’s dish.”

Marnie couldn’t have wine, but they pretended she could. Michael got them both a little apple juice spritzer in a wine glass and settled down on the couch with her.

“Let’s talk about sex,” Marnie said, as soon as Michael sat down. “I need some entertainment. At my age, talking is all I have left.”

Michael smiled, but he wasn’t really feeling his usual chipper self today. “Sure, Marnie. What about sex?”

“Oh, you’ve heard all my stories a dozen times. Tell me what you did this week. Come on, lemme live vicariously.”

“It was a slow week in the sex department,” Michael sighed. “I had my usual session with my one and only surrogacy client at the moment.”

“Massage and hand job?” Marnie said knowingly.

“Marnie! You know I can’t tell you about my clients!”

“How long did it take him to come?” she asked curiously.

Michael snorted a laugh. “I didn’t time it. You are too funny.”

“How can I live through you without all the nitty gritty details?”

Michael thought about it. “Details, let’s see… he beat me at three rounds of gin.
Again
.”

Marnie humphed. “Oh, cards! Cards are boring. What about the rest of your week?”

“Hmm. I masturbated in the shower Wednesday. Friday night….” He felt a heavy ache in his chest.
Friday night, after meeting J.C., I lay in bed and thought about him while I touched myself.

“What happened?” Marnie asked, immediately cooing with concern. “Did you go out? Did someone hurt you?”

Michael shook his head. “No, no one hurt me. Well, not exactly. I met someone I really liked and got whole-heartedly rejected. Twice in a row.”

“Oh, honey! What is he, blind? Who could not want such a cute young thing! Tell Marnie all about it.”

So Michael told her about J.C. Guise—how he’d been crushing on that one small picture of him for years, his immediate attraction when they met, the wheelchair, and how J.C. had shut him down at the signing and then again at the pool and the disastrous way that had ended. Marnie listened to it all, digging for more details at every turn.

“Are you sure he’s gay?” she asked.

“Not
sure
. But based on his writing, it makes sense. He’s written some pretty hot male-male scenes. And I’m sure I saw a look in his eyes a few times…. You know that
I-want-you-bad
look.”

Marnie sighed fondly and put one ring-bedecked hand on her chest. “Oh, Lord! Do I remember that look. Can’t recall the last time I got it, but I know how it feels. Heaven!”

“And there was this moment by the pool. I got sort of turned on, and I’m pretty sure he did too. He has a really sexy upper body and a strong face and… I dunno. There’s just something about him, that mysterious quantity X, ya know?”

“Sounds like you two have some serious chemistry. I think this Mr. Intellect is just shy. He’s probably not used to boys who are as open-minded as you are about the wheelchair. He must have thought you were implying that you wanted to take care of him. A man likes to feel like a man. Big and tough.” She tsked and made a face. “Never,
ever
underestimate a man’s ego.”

Michael sighed. “I know. I should never have mentioned the nursing. But it’s ruined now. I can’t stalk him anymore. Poor guy would probably get a restraining order, and I wouldn’t blame him one bit.”

Marnie snorted. “Fuck that. It’s your pride that’s the problem. Well, take it from me—your pride and a nickel will get you a nickel’s worth of dime candy. Haven’t you heard all the grand stories about true love? My Winnie wouldn’t take no for an answer, even though I was married. She pursued me for months, and she won in the end. She was right, too. We had thirty wonderful years.”

Michael gave her a sad smile and rubbed her shoulder. “I know. She sounds amazing. I wish I’d known her.”

“She was. I did miss cock, though,” Marnie said wistfully. “I loved that woman to death, and she could make me scream in bed, but once in a while, a hard cock would not have gone amiss. Being bisexual is like spending your life choosing between meat and potatoes.” Marnie suddenly guffawed. “Make that bananas and mangos!”

Michael giggled. “You are too much!”

“So here’s what you do,” Marnie said in her no-nonsense voice. “You go back to that pool, daily, and swim at the same time as Mr. Important Writer.”

“Marnie, I can’t—”

“Don’t interrupt your elders,” Marnie said sternly. “Don’t approach the man. Just swim, show yourself off, look delectable,” Marnie touched her hair with one frail hand, giving a little pout. “Maybe start giving him a wistful smile here and there.” She demonstrated wistfully. “Then, when he’s gagging for it, give in and let him approach you. You need to turn from the hunter to the huntee, my dear. You’re a bottom boy if I ever saw one.”

“Marnie!” Michael gasped. “I am not!”

“Oh, I know you’re good at being in charge when you need to be. But you need to work with what nature gave you. And your looks are pure, sweet Georgia honey, ‘fuck me now’. You should go with that.”

Michael covered up his face with his hands, laughing. “You’re evil, woman!”

“Um-hum. I’ve never worried about people calling me evil when I was young enough to be worthy of the name, and I’m not going to start now. Take my advice, and you’ll have that man eating out of your hand. Or lower. That’s even better.”

Michael’s laughter died off, and he sighed. “I dunno, Marnie. Why would J.C. Guise like me? I’m just a nurse. And a sex surrogate. Once he finds out about that, he won’t want me anyway. No guy does.”

Marnie slapped at his arm. “What’s the matter with you? You’re gorgeous and fun, you have a big heart, and you’re sexy to boot. He should be so lucky.”

“Thanks, Miss Thing.”

“Besides, one of us needs to get laid so we can chat about it, and the odds of it being me aren’t great. It’s hard to run after a potential sex partner with a walker. Now! How ’bout we watch some porn?”

Michael looked at his watch. “It’s almost time for your pills. I need to make you a snack to go with it, and I need to check your vitals.”

“Okay, nursey nurse. After that, can we watch porn?” She gave him her patented big-eyed pleading look.

Michael felt guilty. “You know your daughter would have me fired in a heartbeat if she knew I let you do that.”

Marnie glowered. “Fuck Susan. I’m still an adult in my own home. God knows, if you can’t be an adult at eighty-nine, what’s it all for?”

Michael hesitated, chewing his lip. “Is Susan due over?”

“No, she’s at work, thank God. Come on. Let’s watch
Misty Beethoven
. Please?” She batted her false lashes at him playfully.

Michael rolled his eyes. “All right. After pills and vitals, I’ll let you watch some of
Misty
while I put on fresh sheets and tidy your room. Okay?”

Michael started to get up, but Marnie gripped his hand and looked at him seriously. “Thank you for letting me be myself. You’re the only one who does, you know.”

Her eyes were a little damp, and Michael felt a catch in his chest. She was so sweet—in her uniquely raunchy way. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Well, from one eccentric to another, I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

“Oh, Michael. I love you too.”

“S
O
,
WHAT
’
S
new and exciting, James?”

Over Skype, Felicia looked just as she had when James was growing up. She was a wiry, unadorned woman who wore little makeup and favored easy to wash polo shirts and khakis. Her super curly hair, worn pulled back into a braid, was now more snow than slate, and her face grew lines like they were wild daisies in a field. It was really good to see her.

James blew out a breath. “New—I bought a toothbrush the other day. Supposedly, it’s the latest technology in angled bristles. Exciting—I had a book signing and survived it. That also falls under the categories ‘miraculous’ and ‘terrifying’.”

Felicia bounced a little dark-haired girl on her lap. The child had a recently repaired cleft palate and what might be a mild case of microcephaly. “Rachel, James had a book signing! Isn’t that exciting?” Felicia told the little girl. Then she smiled at her computer camera. “I’m so proud of you, James. Were there lots of lovely fans there?”

“It was a good turnout. Best they’ve had in a few years, the store manager said.”

“Wonderful! You deserve every success. You’re so talented. You know how proud we are of you, and how much we appreciate your support.”

“It’s nothing.” James didn’t want to discuss that. He sent Children of God, the home where he’d grown up, a check for four hundred dollars every month. He figured he didn’t have a car like most people his age, so it wasn’t a big sacrifice. But with the way his royalties had been dwindling lately, he didn’t know how long he’d be able to keep it up. He didn’t want to worry Felicia, though. Not until he had to.

“Tell me how everyone’s doing,” he said.

Felicia filled him in. James had left the home ten years ago, when he was nineteen. He was lucky. A lot of the kids he’d grown up with weren’t capable of living on their own. Because of Children of God’s nonprofit status as a home for children, anyone over twenty-one had to be transferred to an adult care facility. But Felicia kept up with them all. And there were still some kids at the home that had been young when James was there. It took her a while to give him an update on everyone.

And then there were the new kids James had never met, kids like Rachel, who appeared to be around five years old. She never said a word while they were on Skype, just sat and clung to Felicia with one strong hand. James had a feeling Rachel wouldn’t be one of the lucky ones.

“Are you dating anyone?” Felicia asked, as she always did.

“No. My harem wouldn’t put up with it.”

Felicia smiled. “What about Chris? Do you ever see him?”

James’s hands clenched at the wave of bad memories. He shook his head. “I told you that ship sailed, was bombed in the harbor, and is now fish condos.”