Chapter Eight

"I do *not* believe what we saw. Our Lady Eve and Dr. Adam Hunter standing side by side at a press conference, in front of the whole world. I mean, yeah, they didn't hug or even shake hands, and Evie was in full drag so he looked like Hunter's *daughter* or something, but I don't know which one was braver, you know? I still think Hunter is blind and prejudiced, but, you know. I was thinking...he never has, in *any* of his talks, said that AIDS was a curse on the gays. I'm going to look at his website, because he does have one, and see about his columns, you know?"

"Yes, sweetie." Blair had been talking in the truck nonstop since they'd taken Evie home from the press conference. Normally, Jim would have enjoyed it. It had been a very long time since Blair had been so excited, and when he was, he was adorable. But not now. Now Jim did his best to tune Blair out so he could think. And what he was thinking about was not pleasant.

He pulled into their spot and climbed out into the Cascade drizzle. Blair, still chattering, followed him. "Twenty years. Can you believe it? I mean, even you saw your father...maybe not. That has to be so hard, though. To know your dad disapproved of you...oh...yeah. I guess I'm lucky. Poor Evie. I hope he and his father at least start talking."

Jim unlocked the front door and turned to face Blair. "'She.'"

"Excuse me?"

"Lady Eve prefers to be called 'she.' So does Miss Melly and poor Miss Freddy. You never call them that."

Blair frowned at Jim. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"No, you don't, darling, do you?" Jim signaled the elevator.

"What's wrong, James?" The doors opened. Jim didn't answer. Blair sighed and fidgeted until the reached their floor. "James, talk to me."

Jim just shook his head. He unlocked the apartment door and hung up his coat, and then walked to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. He wanted to warm up from all that cold and damp. He could hear Blair close and lock the door behind him and then follow him to the kitchen.

"Good idea. It's nasty out there."

"Yeah." He didn't look at Blair.

"It's nasty in here. James, talk to me. Please. Tell me what I'm doing wrong, why you're so angry." Jim felt Blair grab his arm, as if to make him look.

He put down the coffee measure and turned around. "It's not my anger that's the issue, darling. It's *yours*."

"What the hell are you talking about? Don't tell me you're buying Hunter's line of crap. I am *not* angry. Okay, I am, now, but that's just because you brought this thing up again." Blair began pacing around the kitchen.

"I'm bringing it up again because he's right." Jim turned away to fill the carafe and turn the coffee machine on.

"I'm not angry. Not really. Come on. Look at me, James." Blair pulled around Jim to face him.

"Okay. I'm looking." He didn't meet Blair's eyes.

"What is really bothering you?" Blair grabbed both his arms.

"You. You know, they've been telling me this for years, but I refused to see it. Now I do. God, I *hate* this." His stomach began knotting up. He forced himself to look at his partner.

"Who? Telling you what?" Blair's eye's flashed.

"All the girls. Down on Stonewall. They all love you, 'Dr. Blair.' But they don't think of you as part of them."

Blair frowned. "What do you mean? Of course...well...I'm..."

"Yeah. You're not. You're my lover, but you're not really *there*."

"I'm there with you half the week. I like being there."

"And never without me. You don't even visit Miss Melly without me."

"Do you go by yourself? Do you see him alone?"

"*Her*. And, yes, I do. Nights when you're busy grading papers or doing some Rainier thing, or just working with Sam, I go there. You know that. You've called me there any number of times. *You* only go there with *me*. You're visiting."

Blair ran his hands through his damp hair. "Of course we're visiting. We live here; we work at the PD. What do you mean?"

"Why don't you use 'she'? I'd think simple etiquette would *make* you call the girls correctly."

"What is with you? What does it matter *what* I call them, James?" Blair stalked off into the living room and sat on the couch, his arms folded.

Jim followed. "Because it *does*. Because if you call them guys and 'he', they're a bunch of pathetic men who are fooling themselves, but if you call them 'she', they're successful and *fabulous*. And they *are* fabulous. You know that, Blair. And you know names have power. You've taught me that yourself. Chief."

Blair was silent for a long time - long enough for the coffee to stop dripping. Jim filled two mugs and took them back to the living room. He handed one to Blair, and took a sip of his own.

Blair held his cup for a long time, wrapping his hands around it as if for warmth. Outside, the rain began to fall harder. "I never thought about it. I don't know what to say. I'm sorry." He stared into the coffee.

"It's more than that. You are angry. I can smell it. You know I can. You trained me. Why are you angry?" He kept his voice, so he wouldn't shout.

"I am NOT angry, Ellison! How many times do I have to say that?...You can smell me?"

Jim nodded. "Now that I think about it, darling, there's been a low level *something* ever since..." He stopped, not wanting to complete the thought. He forced himself. "Ever since that first night at Club Purple." He knew it for truth as he said it.

Blair put down his coffee cup, and started walking around. "I have to...I *love* you. I've been happy these past two years, being with you...it's been the best...a fantasy..." He stopped. "I love you. I've loved you since you tossed me against my office wall. James. I love you." The tone of his voice belied the confidence in his words.

"Do you?" Jim's stomach clenched. "Because...I'm not the man who threw you against that wall, am I?"

"No." Blair's voice was barely a whisper. "You aren't." He sat down again, and buried his head in his hands.

Jim wanted to go over and comfort him, but he couldn't move. "I'm sorry. He was a lie."

"I know! I found out that night that I was in love with a...a mask, a damned role you were playing. You know, one of the things I'd loved about Jim Ellison was his honesty, his inability to lie well. I *knew* I could trust you, man, with my life, my...everything." Blair jumped up again, his hands waving in the air. "And that went away."

"You can trust me. That hasn't changed." Jim clenched his hands around his cup.

Blair stopped moving. His face became far too calm. "Yes, yes, it did. I love you, I'm in love with you, but you are *not* him, and it's not because of the mannerisms or the wardrobe or *any* of it. It's the man I first fell in love was...was the sort of man who wouldn't *lie* for years on end, or that's what I thought he was."

"It...I'd been living that way for five years, you know? I'd made myself be that way, live that way all the time. I didn't know how to stop." Jim couldn't look at Blair.

"You didn't know...You tell me *now* you knew I was angry all this time, when even *I* didn't know that. How could you *not* know how much I wanted you? My God, the frustration must have been coming off me in *waves*." He rubbed his hand over his hair. "How could you *not* know? My God, James. All you would have had to do was crook your little finger - the one you have sticking out so daintily - and I'd have *nailed* you to the nearest flat surface."

"I didn't let myself know. Don't you see? Straight Jim has to be completely straight. He can't let himself go for the tiniest minute, even, or maybe especially, with the most wonderful, most *adorable*, more *forceful* man in the world, because if he does, the next day, he *will* be sticking out his little finger. So, I *couldn't* take the chance."

"Doesn't make it hurt less, James."

"So...why are you here? Why did you stay after..."

"Because, hell, I got to sleep with you. Finally. And then...oh, God, James. You were *happy*. Centered, which you never were before. What was I supposed to do? Say that I'll stay with you and sleep with you, but you have to go back to being miserable? I loved you. How could I do that to you?"

Jim put down his coffee. There was no room for it in his stomach. "You still love 'Jim.'"

"You *are* Jim."

"Not to you. To you, I'm 'James.' I loved it so much - finally, something only you called me - that I didn't think. You don't do that. You don't do nicknames or pet names. I'm not 'Jim' to you, except...Two nights ago, after we saw my father, when I put on the butch act, and last night, when I took down those crooks. Other times, too, when I've had to be the macho cop. When you're so hot we can't make it to the house, or when you positively *demand* me to take you. Who do you love, Blair?"

"I...I...oh, my God. I..." Blair stared at him. "I...You *lied* to me. You...when I'm with you, *I'm* someone else, I think. I'm part of *your* world, and I'm expected to be part of your world."

"You marched in the parade with me." Jim could hear the betrayal in his own voice.

"I was *proud* to, man. I *am* queer. Bisexuals *are* queer. But..."

"But the gay world doesn't want you. I *know*, sweetie. I've been...counciled for years. 'He's a darling boy, Jimmy, but he's not one of *us*.' You didn't want to be. They were right."

"I wanted to be with you. I loved you." He stopped in horror. "I *love* you. I...oh, God. I don't know. What's happening to us, Ja...Ji...I don't even know what to *call* you, man!" He began to pace again.

"I don't know, either. But I *do* love you." Those words, at least, he knew were true.

"Yeah, well. *I'm* still the same person. Mostly. And...I'm sorry. I...think I need to think about this."

"Okay." It wasn't okay. It would never be okay.

"Someplace else. Just...for awhile. I'm sorry."

Jim couldn't say anything. There was nothing to say. He clenched and unclenched his hands. He stayed that way while Blair cleaned up the still full coffee cups and put them away, and then dug a bag out of the closet. The rain beat down harder on the roof. It nearly drowned out Blair's heartbeat. "Where are you going to go?"

Blair shrugged. "Maybe the Glasses. They have more space than the Michaelsons." Even that twisted the knife a bit more. Those were their - no, Blair's - straight friends.

He was desperate. He had to keep Blair with him. "You don't have to. I'll...I'll move downstairs or something. We still have your old futon."

Blair shook his head. "I'm sorry. I really am. I...this is not going to be forever. I'll...we'll work this out." Jim wasn't sure if Blair believed his own words.

Blair made his phone call and packed a small bag. Before he left, he made a move as if to kiss Jim, but then shook his head. "I'll...call." There was no expression in his voice. It felt like Blair was already gone.

"Yeah. Please." Jim stayed on the couch and listened as Blair walked downstairs and out the door to his own car, and turned on the ignition.

Just before he pulled out, Jim heard one final whisper. "I love you."

Jim followed the sound of Blair's car as long as he could. Maybe longer. Then there was only the Cascade rain, standing in for his tears.

The End

Copyright 2001 Debra Fran Baker and NightRoads Associates

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