We got together the following Wednesday, Jeff's birthday, July 24. My guy was nineteen.
I'm sure you understood the reference to his birthday as a shortcut. We got together every day. The way I saw it, I probably had only fifty to seventy years left to live, so we couldn't afford to waste a minute.
Jeff picked The Rose Tattoo again. What can I say? He liked the place. He insisted on paying. He was, after all, a working man.
"I'm making so much I won't even feel it," he argued.
"You're only working for the summer," I countered.
"Yes, but it's based on a really high salary."
"Well, young man, my trust fund compensates me amply, and it works while you're sleeping."
"That makes me feel like a kept man."
"Good," I said. "Just as long as you realize this obligates you to stay with me."
"The price of a good meal has really gone up," he said. "But I suppose it's a price I'm willing to pay."
He sounded so reluctant I hadn't realized how well he could act.
Somewhere along the way we had added a dimension I had never experienced before with a man. Not only had the conditions never been right, but I doubt any of them had the capacity. Jeff did.
We were playful. We could jump in and out of roles and attitudes and anachronisms at will. We seemed to instinctively pick up what the other was doing. It felt like being a kid and an adult at the same time.
Jeff was so good at it that sometimes he would try to play when the situation called for being serious. I got into the habit of letting him know it wasn't time for play.
"Jeff, I know this is a birthday celebration, and I can get back to the subject another time, but I'd like to talk about the gathering storm."
"I'll assume that's a metaphor since the weather is delightful and we're not studying about World War II. I'm fine with talking about Father Fine."
"Okay, but I really want to talk about my Father, not joke about him."
"Point taken," he said.
"We're going back to school in a month. I've got to start the process with him because this could take a long time."
"What's your plan?" he asked.
"Uh, I tell him. I meet his arguments. I keep telling him. I keep saying nothing is going to change it. And, I just keep at him until I wear him down."
Silence.
"What?" I asked, a little too loud for polite conversation.
"I'm not so sure that's a plan," he thought a few moments, "designed for success. Even if you get him to relent, he still hates it. He just decided that, for the time being, your being with me is slightly less painful than constantly arguing with you about being with me. And there's no guarantee he'll give in."
"So what's your big plan?" Yes, I was annoyed to be dismissed so cavalierly.
"I don't have a plan," he said.
"Ah."
"But, I can make a plan that has a better chance of success than yours." That was all he said.
He was turning up my annoyance meter.
"And just how do you know that?"
"Because I'm going to collect intelligence before I create the plan. I have what I think Sun Tzu considered the most valuable asset in a campaign - a reliable spy. And after I collect all the intelligence, I can target his weaknesses. I can plan surprises to negate his strengths."
