Sugar Talk
Tory:
“Tory, man, you can’t actually care about that guy. He’s crypt-keeper old.”
“Well…,” Tory shrugged in a what-can-I-say sort of way. “I kind of do.”
Mitchell rolled his eyes, shook his head, then shifted forward in his chair and met his friend’s gaze with his own.
“Then you’re only opening yourself up to heartbreak. All a man like him wants is power, and the illusion of your infatuation is how you keep the power for yourself. Because, once the illusion is gone, then, dude, you’re doomed.”
“What if it’s not always about power?” Tory said, running a hand through his salon-blond curls before shifting forward on the sofa. “I mean, you seem to have fairly balanced relationships with three older guys all at the same time. So… clearly something else has got to be possible.”
“Here’s the key difference between you and me,” Mitchell started, then paused, reaching for a swig from his bottle. “I don’t care about any of them. They’re all just means to an end. Things I use and then dispose of the moment they’re no longer useful to me—”
“—After you max out their credit cards, you mean,” Tory teased, rubbing at his chin, playfully concealing a smile.
Mitchell met Tory’s chuckle with his own, adding an amused, slitted glare, before continuing. “But it’s because I don’t care that not one of them has any power over me. That’s the difference. Once you care, you’re done.”
Both swallowed a swig from their bottles.
“You’ve got to make a choice,” Mitchell said with a shrug. “Either steel yourself and play the game as it is—a game where you milk that man for all he’s willing to give—or you lace up the Versace boots he bought you last week and walk that tight rump of yours out his door before he decides to smack it in your face. Dude, men like him, they don’t care about guys like us. We’re just handsome faces that remind them what youth used to feel like—their playthings. Don't let him convince you otherwise.”
Genuine concern shone in Mitchell’s stern eyes. It stung Tory. Right in the chest. He shook it off with another swig.
“But…we can exist as more than just shadows in their lives. Especially if we find someone good, someone kind. Like Edmond is to me.”
Mitchell reached over the table and nudged Tory on the shoulder. “Alright. Tell me, have you met any of his friends yet? Or his kids? Does he take you places during the day, or does he only call on you at night? In that warm, romantic glow of bedroom light?”
Tory’s grip tightened around his bottle. “No,” he said, the muscles lining his jaw twitching. “Not yet.”
“And it’s never going to happen, man,” Mitchell said. “He’ll fill your head with words of honey. He’ll dress you up in the finest clothes just so he can strip you back down again with his clammy, old, wrinkled hands. He’ll make you believe that your wildest, nastiest dreams could all come true; they could all be yours. With him, right? Only with him.”
“Colton almost married you,” Tory sneered without thinking. He regretted every word the moment they slipped out.
Mitchell sat still. Deflating. His very essence seemed to sputter out from some invisible wound on his chest. Steel bars clanged down over his eyes.
“Yeah,” Mitchell said, his voice thin. “He almost did. But look around. Where is he now?”
Tory shifted on the sofa, rubbed at the tingles of anticipation creeping across his arm.
“He’s not here,” Pain lined Mitchell’s words. “He never cared about me, never loved me. He only ever wanted to own me. And I almost let him. Deceit and betrayal are all these old badgers know. But hey… What do I know?”
Slow, unsure, Tory slid to the edge of the sofa, his soft gaze locked on Mitchell. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was stupid of me.”
“Yeah.”
Tory reached across the table, taking Mitchell’s hand in his own. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to hurt you. Honest. It’s just... Edmond isn’t like Colton. He isn’t like anyone I’ve ever met. Sure, he may not have introduced me to his friends yet, but… I know he cares about me.”
Mitchell took Tory in, the warm stubbornness on his face, the glint in his eyes. Hurt and jaded as he was, Mitchell wanted to believe.
“I showed you the pictures, didn’t I?” Tory asked, brightening. “He trusted me to remodel his apartment. When we’re together, I can tell that he only has eyes for me. His eyes—and I think his heart—are only for me.”
“Look, I know you want to believe that he’s somehow different,” Mitchell said as now he squeezed Tory’s hand. “I just…don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Can you trust me?” Tory asked. “Trust that I know how to look out for myself?”
“Honestly, I don’t know, man.” A half-smile stretched across Mitchell’s face. “Sometimes you’re still pretty damn naïve.”
“Hey!” Tory scrunched his brow. “Come on, I’m nearly twenty-three; I’ve lived through some things.”
“And isn’t he nearly…” Mitchell pulled away, traced numbers through the air. “Carry the one, subtract the libido, and—actually, I guess the man’s not quite old enough to be your dad. But almost!”
“That joke wasn’t funny the first few times, and it still isn’t funny now.” Tory chuckled and rose. He strolled over to the fridge, popped open another couple of bottles, and handed one to Mitchell.
“Thank you,” Tory said.
“What do you mean?”
“I know that this is difficult for you, but I also know that you care. That’s all anyone could ask of a friend.”
Mitchell clinked his bottle against Tory’s. “Dude, you really care about him… Grey hairs and all?”
Tory sighed and looked off into the distance, his eyes alight with flashing images of himself and Edmond. Together. “I do. I think he knows that.”
“I’m sure he does, my naïve friend. I’m sure he does.”
Edmond:
“Edmond, please. Everything about that boy screams red flag! You cannot seriously be considering this.”
“You know I find it unpleasant when you refer to him as a boy. The man’s nearly twenty-three.”
“And you’re nearly forty.” Agatha’s refined alto voice stung with truth. “When you were twenty-three, the boy would have been…” She drew numbers in the air. “Carry the one, add the breast milk, and—Actually, I suppose seven isn’t quite young enough to still be breastfeeding.” She wore a teasing grin.
“Nevertheless, Edmond, end it. Soon. Or mark my words, that boy will try fervently to bleed your tender heart dry. He is still a child.”
Edmond leaned back on the sofa, legs crossed. He ran his fingers through his classically trimmed beard, wisdom peppered throughout. “He’s simply enthusiastic, only in need of a little guidance, a little support.”
A cackle erupted out from Agatha’s throat, and she reached across the table, clasping Edmond’s shoulder. “Precisely what I thought about my last husband and the one before that and the fiancé prior to him.” She leaned in close, wearing an expression of humored compassion on her face. “I know how you see him, the glint in your eye when you say his name.”
“Tory,” Edmond said, his voice warm and deep, like crackling embers smoldering in a hearth.
Agatha nodded and pointed to Edmond’s eyes. “There! I just saw it! ...and I understand. He is a fine specimen of a man, a smidge on the short side perhaps, but his sunstone hair and the tight tug of his jeans,” Agatha waved her hand like a fan over her face, “trust me, I see what you see. But I also happen to know what I know, and no offense, but I do have a few years on you when it comes to the learnedness of identifying a good man.”
Edmond arched his brow. “Of course. As the three cobweb-coated engagement rings accompanying the carpet of dust inside your jewelry box can testify to; you sure know how to land a keeper.”
“I said good,” Agatha protested, wearing a mischievous smirk. “I never said I knew how to land a keeper, only how to identify a good man.”
Edmond took Agatha’s hand in his own. “Can you trust I know how to handle myself responsibly?”
“Of course,” Agatha pulled away and rose. Skirting the edges of the coffee table, she went to pour herself another glass of wine. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt. This is a whole different world you’re stepping into. It’s entirely new to you, though somewhat familiar to me. I only want to help you because I care. That boy has you in the palm of his moisturized hand. You’ve allowed him to change everything; I barely recognize the place anymore.”
Agatha spun around the room, velvety red wine sloshing along the rim of her glass. Her gaze brushed across every unfamiliar fabric, every brash color, every newly darkened strand atop Edmond’s once silver sea of hair. “You’ve done all this for him—and more I presume—I worry that you might lose yourself adopting a whole new persona all for a whim, impressing the first boy with pretty eyes to waltz his way into your life.”
Edmond glanced up at her, nodded his understanding.
“When you told me you were separating from Mary, I stood by you, supported you. When you told me you were feeling for men, I may have fumbled for a moment, but still, I supported you. Now, I fear that I’ve been a terrible friend in not reminding you sooner that you don’t have to throw out the baby with the bathwater. Not everything has to change.
“This,” she gestured around the apartment, “none of this is you. Not any side of you that I’ve ever known, and I know you, Edmond.”
Agatha paused. She took in the changed apartment, the changed man sitting before her. “I do, don’t I?”
Edmond rose and strolled over to Agatha. “You do. Of course, you do. Yet still, there are parts of me that I don’t even know myself. Tory, he brings this,” Edmond shuddered, “this child out of me that I had buried so deep down that I never thought…”
He took a breath, swallowed the nerves clotting in his throat.
“Is it wrong for me to give that forgotten child a chance? A chance to see the world through his own eyes, his own experiences? I’ve only ever allowed myself to be such a small part of who I am. There is this whole other side to me, a side I’ve always kept locked away, who I’ve refused to meet. Until now.”
Edmond glanced around the room, his circling gaze resting again on Agatha’s proud, willowy form. “Tory is a companion. He… He sees me in ways that I never dared to see myself and if being around him, with him, means that some things are going to have to change, then I say let them change. I couldn’t have accepted for things to have stayed the same. If pursuing him ends up an expensive lesson, risking a broken heart, I’ll gladly pay the cost. I will.”
Agatha let out the breath she had held tight in her chest and wiped away a tear. “If it’s companionship you want, I know of a whole slew of discreet businesses that wouldn’t cost you half as much.” She put down her glass and took Edmond’s hand in hers. “But I understand… Mostly… As best as I can.”
“That’s all I’ve ever asked.” Edmond raised her hand to his lips, his eyes locked on hers.
“Thank you.”
“What for?”
“For understanding.”
Agatha spoke, presumption in her eyes, “I still stand by what I said. The boy will bleed you dry.”
“Hopefully not as dry as your wine.”
Agatha scoffed. “You truly believe that he might care for you…”
“In truth, Agatha, I don’t know. How many young men with the stamina of a stallion can truly care for a tired old nag?”
Agatha pulled Edmond in, wrapping him in her arms.
“I hope he does,” Edmond said, a faint trembling in his voice.
“As do I, dear friend. As do I.”