Chapter Eleven

The airplane was cold and Jean-Paul reached above his seat to adjust the air above his head. He told himself he was shivering because of it, though he knew better. Still, if anyone asked, that was what he’d say. He had to take an unexpected trip to San Francisco and the train had not been an option open to him. His boss knew of his phobia, and for the most part allowed Jean-Paul to figure out his own travel arrangements. Except of course for out-of-country travel and unexpected emergencies. Then he just had to suck it up and sit in terrified silence for however long the flight was, doing his best to distract himself with movies and reading and alcohol.

He already had a drink before him on the little drop-down table, and he picked it up now with only an imperceptible tremble in his hand. No one watching him would ever think he had a deadly fear of flying. The only people who knew were his therapist and the people who needed to accompany him to the boarding school where he had been staying while they tried to locate his mother’s brother, who, it turned out, had been declared an unfit guardian for him. Both sets of grandparents had already passed on, and his father had been an only child.

He looked up when the flight attendant leaned over him to open the compartment above his head so she could help the old lady standing by the empty aisle seat to store her hand luggage there. Jean-Paul wished he had taken the first class seat his boss had offered him, but it had seemed such a waste of money for a short trip. He picked up his drink and sipped it slowly, closing his eyes and hoping his seatmate would take the hint and leave him alone.

By the time the aircraft was trundling down the runway, Jean-Paul had already downed his first drink and was sitting with his hands on his thighs doing his best not to clench his fists. Not that anyone would have noticed, because the old woman had said a cheerful hello, which he had managed to return without growling at her, and then she had promptly gone to sleep. To try and keep his mind occupied, since he couldn’t be on his cellphone as yet, he turned to observe his unwelcome companion.

She was a tiny slip of a woman, a dowager hump beginning to form at the top of her spine. Her hair was white and straight. He wondered if it felt like Camden’s...smooth and silky to the touch. Camden...he dragged his mind away from his one-time lover and continued his observation of his seatmate. Her hands fell naturally into the well formed by her thin legs and the dress she was wearing. They were completely relaxed, as though she were home asleep in her cozy bed, instead of in a cramped economy class seat on a commercial airplane that could fall from the sky.

He slid his eyes away from her reposed form and looked out the window just as the airplane launched itself into the sky. His heart rate sped up, his body temperature rose and the heat that swamped him caused him to pant like a dog on a hot summer day. He opened his mouth so he could breathe through it because enough air was not getting to his lungs via his nose. The flight attendant was giving them further instructions on where things were and what to do in an emergency. Jean-Paul suffered through it, as tense and tight as a bowstring before a performance.

“Are you all right, dearie?”

A sweet, high-pitched voice broke into his panic and Jean-Paul turned to find the old woman sitting next to him eyeing him with concern and warmth in her eyes. “Don’t like flying?”

Jean-Paul’s color rose even higher. He turned away, looking out the window at the clouds through which the plane was now soaring.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Would you like me to hold your hand?”

Outrage made Jean-Paul turn his head, a sharp denial on his lips, and then she winked at him and giggled like a schoolgirl. He laughed instead, and the motion somehow freed him to take deeper breaths to calm his racing heart.

“Thank you, madame, that is kind of you, but I will be okay.”

“You know you can ask for a little pill to take care of that, don’t you? It’s what I do.”

Jean-Paul just managed not to gape at her in shock.

“And I talk about it with my seatmate. If anything were to happen, I need someone else to know how frightened I am feeling, so maybe we can help each other to stay calm.”

Refusing to think about what could happen, Jean-Paul clasped his hands together and nodded. “I suppose we each have a different way of coping. Is the pill why you fell asleep earlier?”

She nodded. “They knock me out for a bit and then they keep me just relaxed enough that I can forget where I am. If I am really tired, I stay asleep. I went to bed too early last night, so now I’m wide awake.”

She passed on that last bit of information as though she were a conspirator plotting the overthrow of a tyrant. Jean-Paul smiled and relaxed even more. He was still hyper aware of every sound the engines made, of every beep and whisper, of the flow of conversation around him, of his companion’s breathing. But at least his heart rate had slowed.

“The pills don’t agree with me. Alcohol is my drug of choice.” It was only fair he should respond somehow to her concern with a confidence of his own.

“You’re a Frenchman, aren’t you?”

The quick change in subject threw him off balance, but he rallied. “I am, madame. And you are not American.”

“Clever Frenchman,” she retorted with a sly grin. “I am not. I was only here to visit my great-grandchildren for a month. I’m going back home to London now.”

“I hope you had a lovely holiday with your family, madame.”

She gave him an assessing look and then stuck out her hand. “Stop ‘madaming’ me, if you please. I’m Charlotte.”

“I’m Jean-Paul,” he told her with a smile, taking her delicate little hand and raising it to his lips.

She tittered like a schoolgirl, and the rosy blush that stained her cheeks amused and delighted him.

“Such gallantry!”

She took her hand back and spent the next few minutes grilling him about where he was born and what he did for a living.

“It must be very hard for you when you have to travel abroad.” Her voice held a depth of empathy, but not an ounce of pity or amusement. “But I suppose it cancels itself out since a handsome man like you must surely have a pretty woman waiting for him when he gets home.”

Jean-Paul couldn’t help it. He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that startled not just his companion but people across the aisle. Once he had managed to calm his hilarity sufficiently to respond, he said, a chuckle still trying to break free,

“No indeed, Charlotte, I have no woman waiting for me.”

It amused him that she thought to pry into his personal life in such an obvious way, but he was inclined to forgive her because she had to be at least ninety if she was a day, and age gave her a certain license in his view. And she was managing to keep him sufficiently occupied that his awareness of his surroundings had dimmed enough to make his phobia manageable. He would forgive her anything for that.

“Why ever not?” she demanded.

“Because I prefer men.”

“So, there’s a man waiting for you?”

Her immediate question, without an ounce of judgment, was as amusing as her earlier comment had been. But it was also startling to discover in one so old such a complete lack of criticism. He had always felt that the older generation was less tolerant of his sexual orientation, though their opinions made no difference to how he lived his life.

“Sadly, there is no man, either.”

And just like that, he was back to thinking about Cam. He missed him, and could not account for it, as they had only spent a week together. And you had sex with him, don’t forget that.

“Is there someone you wish were waiting for you, then?”

Jean-Paul turned his attention back to the inquisitive little woman, ready to end the conversation, but the look in her eyes totally disarmed him. She regarded him the way he imagined she would regard a child who had just given her sad news. Such genuine concern for his welfare was not something he was used to. He had been alone since he was fifteen years old. He knew the score...people only concerned themselves with you in exchange for whatever it was you had that they wanted for themselves. Other people only cared when there was something in it for them. What could Charlotte hope to gain by worrying about whether or not he had a man in his life?

They would part ways in a few hours and never see each other again. He wasn’t about to bare his soul to her, because that was not his style. But he could answer her question.

“There is.” He could admit to a stranger that he wanted Cam.

He said no more, and Charlotte asked no more questions. She only patted his hand and leaned her head back against the seat. He glanced over at her, wondering if the drug was putting her back to sleep. She opened one eye and then winked at him.

“Don’t worry. I’m just giving you your space. You’ve talked enough to an old woman for now. Wake me when the food arrives.”

Jean-Paul chuckled and nodded, and she closed her eye again, a small smile playing about her lips. He took out the earbuds he used when traveling and plugged them into his phone. Now that Charlotte was dozing, he needed a distraction. He went to find a station and his finger accidentally hit the chat icon. A picture of Cam and his dog appeared and Jean-Paul stalled over it.

Cam’s hair was loose, its golden locks shining in the afternoon sunlight. His smile was broad and happy, as he most likely was to be home with his pet. The dog’s coat was black and silver, and his tongue hung out at the side of his mouth as though he had been running. Cam’s eyes were alight with warmth and affection for his pet. What would it be like to have that same affection turned on him? How would it be if his face were next to Cam’s instead of a dog’s? Had he been foolish to withdraw, to let Cam leave without trying to cement whatever they had during that one glorious night together?

He didn’t know how long he had been staring at the photo, but Charlotte brought him out of his musings.

“He’s a handsome man,” she said. “Where is he?”

“At home in Pennsylvania.” It might as well be the ends of the earth as far as Jean-Paul was concerned.

“When are you going to visit him?”

Not a question for which Jean-Paul had an answer. Thankfully, before the pause became an awkward silence, the flight attendant appeared to offer them a choice of meal. Hopefully, by the time they finished eating, Charlotte would have gotten over her curiosity about his non-existent love life. She hardly ate any of the food, and while he thought he understood her reluctance to partake, given the lackluster quality of the offerings, eating was another way he distracted himself when he was in the air. So he finished his meal, wishing he was sharing it with Cam.

He had deliberately not allowed himself to think about the man he had let slip through his fingers. That way led to regret, and no good came from wishing you could change what was past. Charlotte’s question played in his mind, though. Would Cam want him to visit his home? Did he live in a house or in an apartment? Was the dog his only pet? Did he get along with his neighbors?

“You must pardon an old woman’s curiosity. It’s how I stay in touch with the world.”

Charlotte’s voice once again interrupted his thoughts. Was she some kind of magical creature who could read his mind and know his thoughts? She hadn’t stopped speaking, so he turned to look at her.

“I learned when I was younger, after a lot of trial and error due to my own stubbornness, that it doesn’t do any good to deny yourself the things that will make you happy. As long as you are not hurting anyone, why not pursue it?”

Why not, indeed? He knew she was waiting for a response to her questions, but he had no idea how to answer her. He had been alone for twenty-five years. He had learned the fine art of self-sufficiency. His happiness was whatever he wanted it to be. So was his sadness and his grief. Had he added to the burden of his grief by avoiding Cam?

“I have been alone a long time,” he told her, sipping some water to moisten his suddenly dry throat. “In private, I have been responsible to no one but myself.”

“And I’m sure that can get rather lonely.” Charlotte gave him a considering look and then leaned in, reprising her role of conspirator. “I think you ought to go and see him. I’ll bet he will be pleased.”

Jean-Paul smiled but did not reply. He hoped Cam would be pleased to have him visit, but he would hedge his bets. After all, they hadn’t known each other long enough for him to be more certain of Cam’s response. He hadn’t even called him or sent a text message, worried that he might appear too needy or clinging. Now a little old lady, who had finally dropped off to sleep again, had set him to wondering if he had made a mistake.

The rest of the flight was uneventful and quiet, as Charlotte slept on. Fortunately, like him, she hadn’t unfastened her seat belt, so he let her sleep though the landing, feeling strangely more at ease with her sitting next to him. He helped her with her carry-on bag, taking it down and carrying it for her off the plane and into the terminal. He waited while she found her ride and accepted the hug she gave him, wondering as she walked away, how she had managed to become so openly affectionate with strangers. The English were not known for their warmth with anyone they didn’t know.

He watched as she hugged the woman who had come to get her, and recalled, as she waved again and got into the car, how she had encouraged him as they waited for her ride.

“Go and see your friend. If you miss him, he probably also misses you. I can tell he means something to you, so don’t waste any more time apart than you have to.”

How easy she made it sound! But even if he were more adept at relationships, they would be apart permanently in five months. How was he supposed to handle the knowledge of that impending reality? He sighed and walked out to the Uber he had called. It was already the middle of September and the air had begun to cool at night, even in Washington. He loved these last days of summer, with autumn seeding the air with drops of cool air, like cold water on hot skin.

After taking a shower and ordering pizza for dinner, because he was too tired to make a meal, he sat on his balcony with a glass of wine and looked out at the city, lit up in early evening splendor. Three weeks ago he had been taking Cam for walks around the Mall, driving him into Virginia to see the war memorials, standing with him watching the pandas outside the panda house at the National Zoo. They had spent their evenings together talking shop...except for that last evening when he had shared the story of his loss. And the evening we made love.

“Made love?” He was so startled by the thought that he spoke aloud.

They barely knew each other; it had just been sex. He had been so vulnerable and so acutely aware of how lonely he was. Perhaps that was why he had ended up in bed with Cam. Why he had avoided doing it again. To open oneself was to court a pain he didn’t think he could bear again if Cam decided to part ways. Better to avoid the pain. At least he had learned to manage his loneliness.

His cell phone vibrated on the table where he had placed it. Jean-Paul picked it up absently and checked to see who was calling. It was a Friday night. He was not expecting any calls, so his heart did a slow somersault when he saw who was on the other end.

“Camden! Good evening, mon ami. How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks. How about you?”

“I am also doing well. Sitting on the balcony enjoying a glass of wine.”

Cam chuckled and the sound was delightfully musical. “Still living the sophisticated life, eh, my friend?”

“There is no other way,” he admitted with a smile, “although you will be pleased to know that I have ordered pizza for dinner.”

“No!”

The disbelief in Cam’s voice was so comical that Jean-Paul knew he was teasing him. He laughed, and felt the space inside him that he had been trying to close off open up again.

“I can’t believe you’re slumming like that!”

Jean-Paul loved the laugh in Cam’s voice. “Sometimes, I am too tired to make a proper meal. Besides, I was away on business for a while and just got back this evening.”

“Oh! How was your trip?”

“Long and busy. It is good to be home. How is school so far? Do you like your new job?”

“New job’s kicking my ass, but it’s a learning curve I knew I’d have to beat.”

“But are you enjoying it?”

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Jean-Paul loved listening to Cam when he was passionate about something. Like now, hearing him talk about how hard his job was and yet how much he loved it did something to Jean-Paul that he didn’t understand. He felt a curious joy for his friend and wished he could share it with him.

“That’s why I haven’t called. I’ve been so busy with meeting after meeting, it’s incredible. That part of the job I can do without, but everyone assures me it’s just beginning of the year stuff and that things will get better. I sure hope they’re right about that.”

Jean-Paul had not expected any explanation for the silence between them. He was as much at fault as Cam was for it. And his excuse? He had none. Fear of rejection and fear of exposure were not good reasons to let a budding friendship and maybe more go by the wayside. He couldn’t think about it now, anyway, because Cam was still speaking.

“I called because a few of the kids you met this summer stopped by school and asked me to say hi to you for them.”

Jean-Paul let the disappointment that slammed into him settle before he replied. Why he thought Cam would be calling just because he wanted to reconnect was a mystery for the ages. He had done nothing to deserve anything like the closeness he found himself craving. Swallowing the hurt, he spoke coolly in reply.

“That is very sweet of them. When next you see them, please return the greeting, and extend my best wishes to them for their first year in college.”

He couldn’t have sounded more stilted and cold if he tried. And he didn’t even have to try...it was just how he was when he was in retreat.

“I’ll do that.”

He registered the answering coolness in Cam’s response and marveled at how awkward it felt to be talking to him like this when a month ago they were sucking down each other’s cum hungrily. Why couldn’t he just let go and show a little of how he really felt? He knew it wasn’t so hard, at least not with Cam. He took the plunge...no time like the present to try a different approach to keeping a friend and maybe a lover.

“Should I be disappointed that you did not call for yourself as well?” As first steps went, it was the best he could do.

“Who says I didn’t? It’s not like you’d have known about the kids otherwise. I could have just kept it to myself.”

So, the kids’ message was the excuse Cam was using to get back in touch again? A stupid smile creased his cheek. He felt ridiculously happy that Cam had found a reason to do what he could not do.

“Thank you for thinking of me.”

Still much too stilted. How was Cam to know what he was feeling if he kept trotting out stiff answers. This wasn’t his job, where Cam expected him to be stiff and unapproachable. This was his life, and he wanted Cam in it. He tried again.

“I have thought of you as well, and missed our evenings together. Your being here was like a mini holiday for me.”

“Why didn’t you call, then? Have you been globe-trotting since I left?”

Jean-Paul shuddered. “Only this past week.”

“What kept you away before that, then?”

He found himself offering Cam the same reason he had offered Charlotte on the plane for why he had not tried to stay in contact with him.

“I have been alone for a long time. Old habits die hard, as you say.”

It was a cop-out, but he needed time to practice the new Jean-Paul-speak, which required him to know what to say first. Cam’s reply said he knew that it was an avoidance as well.

“Need any help breaking them, you let me know. I’m real good at teaching an old dog new tricks.”

Jean-Paul laughed, feeling light and hopeful and warm. “Did you just compare me to your dog?”

“I did not. However, I did just call you old.” He paused, and when Jean-Paul said nothing, he continued, “What, no snappy comeback? You must agree with me, then.”

Cam’s chuckles made his blood stir as he recalled their foreplay. “If I remember correctly, you said we are not old. I do not need a defense. That is my whole argument right there.”

They shared another laugh, and for a moment it was as it had been in August...a warm and comfortable camaraderie singing between them.

“Maybe you can come visit me some time. When you’re not jetting off to exotic places to do diplomatic things.”

Jean-Paul winced, glad Cam was not there to see it. He wasn’t ready to share his secret fear. He feigned a laugh, though, and hurried to answer.

“Maybe I can. I will let you know.”

“Fine. Can’t wait. Anyway, I’ve gotta go. I’m going out in a bit, so I gotta go get ready. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

Jean-Paul promised, praying as he did that he could keep it.