.
made jokes such as, “Don’t hit my car!” and, “I don't want any black paint on my white car!”
One day, I pulled into the rear lot and parked next to his. When I entered, and after he gave the usual, “You're late!” I told him I parked next to him.
“Oh, no,” he shouted in a high-pitched voice. “Don’t hit it on the way out.”
When it came time to leave, I stood and whispered goodbye.
“Don't worry, Sammy,” I said. “I’ll pull out real slow.
I placed a drawn-out emphasis on real.
I heard “whhhaaat?” as I walked out.
The jukebox blared. Allison selected songs; I chose tracks, and Sammy played tunes. Sammy acquired the app on his phone and sent selections to the machine. One I chose a lot is “Glory Days” by Bruce Springsteen.
A twist concerning this song is I’ve told people it’s my favorite. In truth (and it’s not easy selecting a favorite song), it’s “Unchained Melody” by the Righteous Brothers. Sammy, at times, chose “Glory Days” without me asking. He said he blasted it in his car.
I’d go to the men’s room, and he’d be inside or came in while I took care of business. Now and then, he belted the words, “Glory Days!” Pardon me, I go on record as saying he can’t sing. And neither can Allison.
Not that I have a claim to fame myself. I never intended to enter because he was — just time to pee! At no point during these meetings did I sneak a peek.
Sammy and I sat the usual two seats apart. Nothing out of the ordinary happened, and the conversation stayed limited. I watched television, and his phone was up to his face. Out of the blue, I heard the words from his mouth.
“You can touch me, Andrei,” he said.
Make no mistake — he articulated those exact words. I did not imagine it. He can deny it to the end of time, but it wouldn’t change the fact he spoke them.
“What?” I responded.
Again, the words flowed soft from his mouth.
“You can touch me, Andrei,” he repeated.
I stayed silent and attempted to decipher the purpose and meaning of the words. After the day, I began to touch him. A pat on or a quick rub of his back. I grabbed his upper arms from behind and squeezed them as I gave a goodnight spiel.
I noticed another song played when we were both present and not any other time. It’s “Do You Think I’m Sexy?” by Rod Stewart.
Chapter Four
In September, I met Victor.
A job vacancy opened at work. The position involved working with me from 7:00 am until 3:00 pm Monday through Friday. I supervised two other employees in this post and neither worked out.
It's difficult to fill any position, not just this one. I met Victor when I interviewed him for the job.
Although I interviewed people for this and other jobs, the oddity of this one didn't occur until the conclusion. It lasted two hours. None of the past ones came anywhere close. And, the time flew.
I had no qualms or hesitation. Victor became my recommendation to the account manager for the job. He learned quick and became proficient. Comfortable with him and confident in his ability, we gelled. We became like brothers.
Until now, Angel remained the one person I expressed my full feelings to for Sammy. Oblivious to any potential fall-out, I confided in Victor. We began to get together after work to socialize. Here was a person I supervised, and I poured out an intense, personal, and private matter. I felt comfortable and trusting.
He accepted what I told him and listened with intent. He became my primary emotional support.
Over time, he mentioned he had a gay male friend, but it never evolved beyond friendship, and neither of them fancied it. He remarked previous bartending employment exposed him to a number of LGBT people.
As time passed, I learned of his previous and current circumstances. He’s thirty-four. He confided a mugger stabbed him and he almost died. Because of this, he experiences horrifying nightmares of the event, reliving it again and again.
He lives with his grandmother and told me his mother steals identities. His brother gets in trouble on a regular basis. His relationship with his mother and brother is poor, bordering on an intense and deep-rooted hatred.
He disclosed he developed a brain tumor at one time. The more I get close to him, the more I realize this young man has his share of pitfalls.
He claimed he's had sex with many women but isn't in a current relationship. He mentioned he finds it difficult to form friendships.
His most recent romance involved a lab assistant named Alysha. He hangs out from time to time with an acquaintance named Liberty Willis. He's into Renaissance Fairs, Witchcraft, card reading, and so forth.
A proud moment of his was playing the part of ‘Rocky’ in his troupe’s rendition of ‘The Rocky Horror Picture Show’.
He strikes me as a caring, intelligent, and unpretentious person. He comes across as advanced beyond his years, and I consider him a free-spirit.
I enjoy the time we share. He causes me to laugh — almost always at Sammy’s expense. He’ll refer to an unrelated or innocent narrative, and my mind concocts a dirty notion.
“We need to find something to get your heart pumping,” he said.
“Oh, I know what would get my heart pumping,” I replied, bursting out laughing.
“Oops, I see where this is going,” he chuckled.
He once said: “That’s fucked up.”
Without skipping a beat, I responded, “Oh, hell, up, down, sideways, upside down, round and round. I’d fuck him every way imaginable.”
Many times, I communicated an X-rated thought to him. On one occasion, I shared I envisioned Sammy walking into a packed Rusty’s.
“I killed Andrei,” he said.
Everyone in the place turned and looked.
“Did you shoot him?” one said.
“No! He shot me full and then died of a heart attack.”
His short stint working with me came to an abrupt halt. He took a hankering for a female employee of the client company. One day, he told this lady, “I’d like to get to know you better outside work.”
Taboo by company policy, the lady reported it to her supervisor and the corporation’s human resources department. Regardless of other employees and me deducing it harsh punishment, the client company determined they no longer wanted him at their site.
They requested his removal from the account and the company we worked for terminated him. I’m not condoning what he did because it violated a policy but got blown way out of proportion.
The complainant considered it sexual harassment. I deemed it a far stretch and believed a written warning and suspension without pay sufficient recourse. The company never solicited my opinion.
Victor expressed he likes to fight. He’s told me years have passed since his involvement. Although I’ve never seen him in action, I surmise he’s a pretty good scrapper. It’s the little guys' people have to watch.
He stands five feet, three inches, and weighs one-hundred and thirty-two pounds. His hair is jet-black and wavy. We’ve joked of late we’d tear Rusty’s apart one night. Not the place, select people.
When it comes to fighting, it doesn’t accomplish a thing. It amounts to alpha monkeys' grandstanding. Although exceptions, they inflict no serious injuries. People may get hurt, but no debilitating injury occurs.
Many