We all have a backstory. Learning about someone else's sheds light on what that person is all about. An attractive face is nothing without a beautiful heart to go along with it. Sometimes, getting a glimpse of what is inside a person is a difficult task to undertake. Some people don't take kindly to having you slice and dice your way into their souls.
I had made a couple of attempts at getting to know Bob's backstory, and I even thought I might have made a little headway a time or two. While Bob had claimed he didn't push me away, I felt differently in that regard. And, I had just about given up on the idea that I would ever truly know the man behind the mask.
Summer had faded into fall, and cooler temperatures prevailed. There was a climatic change of a different nature as well. Bob and I had cooled towards one another and it had only taken a split second for that to happen. He did make an honest attempt to apologize for his part in Jon's ridiculous attempt to make me choose between them.
Bob's attempt at an apology was both badly timed and badly staged. He came into my place of work with an armload of flowers, and in front of Jon, he invited me to dinner. He even went so far as to tell Jon in his own words that he could 'consider it an infringement of territory'. That turned in to a fiasco all of its own. While the two of them verbally drew down on one another, I turned the tables on them in a different way. I asked Ivan to be my dinner escort instead. I even offered to pay his going rate.
At my suggestion, Ivan, after spitting his drink down the front of himself, and looking to add to his own amusement, not only accepted my proposal, but also offered to accompany me entirely free of charge. Both Jon and Bob were set back on their heels at that little maneuver. Ironically, Ivan sided with me that they both got what they deserved, a solid smack down and a reminder that I had a mind all of my own.
Ivan and I met at his apartment after we both had gone home to change. We decided to return to the bar where we felt most comfortable. We had dinner within eyesight of Jon and Bob who were still drinking together and soothing their wounded prides. I didn't think much about it at the time, but I should have. One of the first rules you learn on the streets is to keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. If I had paid attention, I would have noticed just how close an eye they did keep on one another.
Jon was completely convinced that I had engaged Ivan's services that night even to the extent of having sex with him after dinner. I let him think what he wanted to think because it kept his focus off Bob for the moment. Ivan was kind enough to agree to remain mute on the matter, neither confirming nor denying Jon's allegations.
Of course, some degree of fallout from my dinner with Ivan was to be expected. But, there was a series of events that followed so closely together that I can only choose which one trail to follow here. The others will have to follow in due time.
It was two weeks, give or take, after my dinner with Ivan that Jon and I happened to be at the bar. It was not a planned evening and it was early. We were both simply there at that same time having a drink with a group of friends. Neither of us was dressed because we had no plans for going out that night.
It was unusually busy for that time of evening and the bar was loud. The phone rang, and a moment later, the bartender shouted at me over the din of noise. I handed Jon my glass and went to take the call.
"Hello, this is Cindy," I answered in a loud voice.
"Hey. Are you busy?" I could barely make out the words. I paused for a moment, covered my other ear and strained to hear the caller.
"Cindy, are you there?" he asked. It was Bob.
"Bob? Is that you?" I asked to confirm my surmise. I heard him sigh into the phone.
"Yeah. Hey look, I didn't catch you at a bad time, did I?" His voice was different. He sounded distant and morose.
"No. No, I was just having a drink with friends. Where are you?" I asked.
"At home." There was a long silence before he mumbled something else I couldn't quite make out.
"Can you speak up a little, Bob? I can barely hear you there's so much noise here," I shouted into the receiver.
He raised his voice so I could hear him better. "I asked if you might have a minute tonight. I'd like to talk to you about something."
I hesitated for a moment. "Hold on a second, could you?" I asked before clapping my hand over the phone and waving in Jon's direction. I got his attention and waved him over to me.
"Jon, it's Bob," I informed him. "I can't hear him very well, but it sounds like something is wrong. Could you please hold this and let me go to the hostess station so I can hear what he's saying?"
"Sure," he replied taking the receiver from me and holding it up to his ear. He waited while I slipped into the foyer and picked up the receiver on the hostess' desk. He didn't hang up on his end, however. Instead, he clapped his hand over the mouthpiece and listened in on our conversation. I don't know if Bob knew he was listening or not.
"Hey, Bob. Are you still there?" I asked.
"Yeah. Can you hear me now?" he asked in a dull tone.
"Yes. This is much better. Now, what were you saying?" I replied. Jon was still listening.
"I just wondered if you had a minute to talk," he said.
"Sure. I guess so. Are you coming over?" I asked. "I'll have you a drink waiting."
"Do you think you could come over here instead? It sounds like there's a party going on, and I'm just not up for all that right now. If not, that's cool. I don't want to interrupt anything."
I tilted my head and looked in Jon's direction. He was looking at me with a slight frown. I shrugged my shoulders at him and motioned for his input. He shrugged back and nodded at me.
"Okay, Bob. I can do that. Do you need anything that I can pick up on my way?" I asked.
"No. We just need to talk." He sounded totally depressed.
"Alright. I'll be there in five minutes then, okay?" I said. He grunted in response and I heard the phone click as the line went dead. I hung up on my end and approached Jon at the bar. "What do you think?" I asked.
He shrugged at me. "I don't know, but he sounds like shit. He didn't tell you what it was about?"
"No, you heard him. He just said he needed to talk," I explained.
"Do you want me to drive you over there?" Jon asked. I was a bit surprised by his offer. In fact, I was a lot surprised that he allowed me to go in the first place.
"No. I have my car. I'll be fine. It's only five minutes away," I said as I reached for my purse and keys. "You're sure that you're okay with this, Jon?" I asked.
He put his arms around me and gazed down at me. "The man sounds like he's in distress, honey. You do what you have to. Just call me and let me know what's up, if you don't mind. I'll either be here or at the house. And, be careful on the roads."
I stretched up on my toes and gave him a kiss. "Okay. I'll give you a call in a bit then."
A few minutes later, I arrived at Bob's. He buzzed me in through the gates and then opened the front door when I tapped lightly on it. He looked like death warmed over. Even in the dark apartment, I could see he was, as Jon had put it, 'in distress'. The smell of hard alcohol, nicotine and pot permeated the apartment as I stepped through the door and took off my shoes.
I turned to face him where he had flopped down on the couch. He hardly resembled Bob at all. He was wearing a faded t-shirt and jeans. I'd never seen Bob in jeans at all. His hair was tousled and uncombed and he had what appeared to be two days or more of stubble on his face. Bob was always clean-shaven. I don't think he had shaved since the last time I'd seen him.
I dropped my purse on the carpet by the couch and sat down beside him. He said nothing at all. I glanced about the apartment. It was unusually messy. The coffee table was cluttered with overflowing ashtrays, dirty dishes and a few empty bottles that never made it to the trash. Bob had been a busy boy over the past few days and not in a good way.
"Well, you look like shit," I commented as I cocked my head at him and studied his face in the darkened room. He didn't reply. I sighed and slapped my thighs. "Hey, look, why don't I just empty some of these ashtrays and make myself a drink? Can I get you something?" I offered.
It seemed to snap him out of his stupor. "I'm sorry. I can get you drink. What would you like?" he asked as he turned his head to look at me for the first time.
"Well, why don't I help you pick up some of this mess and we can both decide what we want when we get up to the kitchen?" I suggested as I stood up and began stacking dishes in one hand and ashtrays in the other.
"I didn't ask you to come over so you could clean my fucking apartment. I have a maid for that," he slurred at me. Bob was some kind of fucked up. His eyes were glassy and his speech was slow and deliberate. I'd had the same look a few times myself. I was sympathetic to the condition.
"How long has it been since your maid was here, Bob? It looks like she's on vacation," I admonished him.
"I threw her out," he snarled back at me.
"Well, that would explain the mess to a degree," I said. "I assume you have a coffee pot somewhere up there?" I asked tossing my head in the direction of the loft. He nodded but didn't reply. "Do you mind if I plunder around a little bit in your kitchen?" I asked.
"Help yourself," he said waving his hand in the air. He made no move to attempt to accompany me upstairs.
I took what I could carry in my hands and made my way to the loft. I set the dishes down on the counter and searched for the light switch. Once I had lighting, the rest was a cinch. I went about scraping dishes and rinsing them before I loaded the dishwasher. I emptied the ashtrays, gave them a quick rinse and dried them with a towel. Then, I searched the kitchen for coffee and filters. In no time, the coffee was brewing. I had a feeling it was going to be a long night.
I made two more trips downstairs before I had cleared the table and made the living room a little more respectable looking.
Bob's only comment was, "You're wiping my fucking furniture with a
wet
rag?" as I wiped up the ashes and crumbs with a dishcloth.
"Who's fucking this mule, big boy? You just sit over there and hold the ears," I snipped back at him. He grunted in response and didn't lodge a second complaint.
A few minutes later, I delivered a tray with a pot of hot coffee, a bottle of whiskey and a set of filled cream and sugar containers to the living room. I sat down and began pouring. I stuck a full mug of coffee, light on whiskey, in his hand.
