Michael entered the bar, sat down on a stool and ordered a beer. He just wanted to be alone to think. He missed Leslie so much. He hadn't realized just how important she'd become in his life. Or maybe he just hadn't admitted it to himself. He missed the closeness he and Peter had had too. What he didn't understand was why some things turned him off and on at the same time. He remembered his comment to Leslie in the heat of passion, about Peter watching them, and it was no wonder she hadn't tried to contact him. He'd been inconsistent, fickle even. Maybe he'd even come off as a bit creepy. He'd also given off strong vibes that things were cool with Peter being in the picture, even voiced it clearly, then he'd turned right around and contradicted himself. He'd be lucky if Leslie would even speak to him when he finally got the nerve to approach her again.
He needed to apologize in a big way. If he hadn't wanted Peter around, he should have stated that as soon as he knew they'd been seeing each other. The problem was, he himself, didn't know what he wanted.
A woman approached him, sitting on the stool next to him, trying to pretend she hadn't noticed him. Yeah, right, he thought. Empty bar stools abounded, yet she sits right next to me and thinks she's being subtle. She was attractive, nicely dressed, and had a light, citrusy fragrance about her. Her dress rustled slightly as she shifted on the stool to cross her legs. Nice legs…. He thought. But not nearly as nice as Leslie's. Her chestnut hair was wavy, and flowed in gentle curls to the middle of her back. He felt dull inside, not the least bit interested. She asked the bartender for a Tom Collins, then unobtrusively uttered a simple hello to Michael. He appreciated the fact that she didn't come on strong like some women would. He nodded at her with a noncommittal, faraway look in his eyes.
"Ah… you're in love," she said. He flinched.
"Why do you say that?"
"I can spot it a mile away. Men always get a certain look when they're brooding over a woman."
"I'm not brooding."
"Could've fooled me. Anyway, you look familiar. Wait… don't you play at the Beachside Lounge now and then?"
He nodded. The Monkees were getting recognized more and more these days.
"Yes! The guitar player who always looks like he's bored," she was proud of herself. "And has a gorgeous Gretsch of a guitar, in addition to lots of other gorgeous parts," she smiled knowingly.
Michael was a bit uneasy with her innuendos. "Um, thanks. I'm not bored. I just… think a lot."
"About the woman you're carrying a torch for," it was said as a statement, not a question.
Suddenly Michael felt her fingers working their way up his thigh. He shot her a disapproving look.
"Thought so! I was testing you! You are sweet on someone!"
She had him there. "Okay, so I am," he couldn't help cracking his ghost of a smile. This one was wily, but not on the make. She knew a lovesick man when she saw one. He wasn't worth pursuing, as a lovesick man remained true to his chosen woman. No one else would do.
"She must be really special." Michael didn't respond, as this woman could easily go into a club where they were playing at any time and announce how he felt about Leslie. It wouldn't be hard to figure out who Leslie was either, as she came to most of their gigs. And he wanted to spare himself the embarrassment.
He chugged the rest of his beer down, threw a tip on the bar, got up, and glancing back at the woman, said, "You're very observant." Then he headed for the door, leaving her open mouthed at his quick departure. Damn! She hadn't turned him on at all. He must have it even worse for Leslie than he thought! A few months ago, he would have gladly bought this woman some drinks, engaged her in conversation and enjoyed her company.
As he opened the door to leave, a couple was entering. The first thing he noticed was the two shiny blond heads and thought how attractive they were, until he realized who they were. Leslie and Peter, dressed up for a night on the town, her on his arm, and they hadn't seen him yet. They were too busy staring into each other's eyes, laughing at something one of them had said, looking completely in love. Her hand tucked securely under his arm above the elbow, her fingers cradling his bicep.
When Peter reached for the door that Michael held open, he turned to say thank you, and met Mike's eyes squarely.
Michael felt a surge of admiration for Peter. He didn't miss a beat, or look the least bit guilty.
"Hi Michael! Look who's here, Leslie!"
Leslie didn't do quite as effective a job of hiding her emotions. Her lovely face registered mild shock. She started to pull her hand away from Peter's arm, but Peter pressed his arm firmly against his side, effectively trapping it. Michael saw it all. Peter just acted naturally, as if this happened on a regular basis, when the truth was, this was the first time they'd run into Michael in public.
Michael nodded rather curtly. "Leslie, Peter." As Peter held the door for Leslie to enter the club, Michael, with his long legs, strode purposefully to the Monkeemobile, not looking back. How had they missed the GTO in the parking lot, wondered Leslie. They had been so absorbed in each other that they had not even noticed it parked only a few spaces away from their own parking space. Peter had brought their older car, since Michael had taken the Monkeemobile. Peter preferred it that anyway—he was getting tired of being stared at in the GTO. Unfortunately, it attracted cops too. He had an expensive ticket as proof.
As they entered the club, a very pretty chestnut haired woman walked by as they were sliding into a booth. "I noticed you two talking to that tall, dark, handsome thing at the door. Why is it that all the really good looking guys are already hung up on someone? He was preoccupied with thoughts of a woman. And here's another example—she gestured at Peter. All the good, attractive ones are already taken. Consider yourself blessed," she said to Leslie as she walked away. She'd said every word pleasantly, without malice, and obviously just enjoyed talking a bit openly to people, but Leslie couldn't have been more embarrassed.
Peter smiled, sitting next to her in the booth. It was a little tight, but he liked it that way.
"She has no idea that the woman Michael is yearning for is you," he said.
"Oh Peter. You don't know that for a fact."
"Wanna bet money on it?"
"Speaking of money," and Leslie pulled Peter's check out of her pocket, slipping it into his.
"I'll just give it back to you again… somehow," and that evil little smile of his surfaced.
She snuggled up to Peter, and he was soon kissing her. Leslie had never kissed anyone that amounted to more than a quick peck in public, and this felt so verboten, so out-of-bounds. Yet, the longer he kissed her, the deeper he kissed her, the more she enjoyed this public display of affection. Peter was exhibiting once again, that he had a wild side. And she also had a feeling this wasn't the end of it…
Leslie knew the waitress had been over to ask what they wanted to drink, and had left, because she'd seen her walking away when they finally broke apart.
"Doing anything special for Halloween?" asked Peter.
"I was wondering the same about you. Do you guys usually dress up when you go to gigs?"
"Yeah, except for Michael."
"I already had that one figured out!" Leslie smiled. "He's too dignified."
"Well, he's had some weird experiences. He dressed as a priest one year, and he had several girls try to 'confess' to him," Peter smiled, the memory still fresh.
"Honestly?"
"Yeah, the rest of us can dress up outlandishly, but no matter what costume Michael ends up with, it seems he gets into trouble. One year he was a fireman, and a girl thought she'd be cute, and screamed 'Fire!- trying to get his attention, of course. Problem was, everyone else in the club ran out the door, thinking it was authentic. The owner wasn't too happy. So Michael is really soured on costumes of any kind now. Oh man… the first year we were living together he dressed as a cop, and girls were all over him! I guess it was that thing girls have for uniforms," Peter laughed his uninhibited laugh again, head thrown back, and Leslie wanted to ravish him right there.
"Didn't he like all the female attention though?" she asked.
"Oh yeah, of course… but Michael feels out of place with a lot of girls after him. He prefers to stick with one at a time."
"What have you dressed up as?" she asked.
"Oh, just about everything, at one time or another. Once I was a chicken, another time a banana split, and last year I was a hot dog, but that really got out of hand."
"Oh?"
The heat climbed up Peter's neck to settle in his cheeks, and Leslie knew something that embarrassed him was about to be aired. "You know, those tight gray band pants we wear…" he trailed off.
"Yes! Oh, do I know!"
Peter blushed harder. "Well, girls were saying things to me on break about how I didn't have to dress like a hot dog, because I already had plenty… down there. You know, my lack of underwear and all."
Leslie laughed. "Oh no, Peter, it's not just your lack of underwear. No underwear I can think of would hide your… shall we say, attributes?"
"Well, one girl said I should put ketchup, mustard and a bun on it, and… um… go to the parking lot with her. I couldn't even look at her after that."
Leslie laughed again. "You should have taken her up on it!"
"Too old fashioned," was his reply. "Sure, I'm more… uninhibited with you, but I know you, we were friends first, and I'd like it if you said something like that. But… a stranger, or even someone I knew only casually, well, it kinda gave me the creeps. Even so, it still gave me a woody," he smiled shyly.
"Peter," she gasped. "If you don't stop making me laugh I'll pee my pants!"
"And I wasn't even trying to be funny."
"And that's the funniest part about it—with you, humor just comes naturally. You have so many comical experiences in life, and when you tell about it, with that serious, innocent look on your face, it just makes it all the funnier."
"Well, I'm glad I can entertain you." He began kissing her again then. When the waitress was finally able to time her approach to when they weren't kissing, Peter ordered a beer and Leslie ordered a Bloody Mary.
As they sipped, Peter leaned back, snaking his arm along the top of the booth, his hand settling on her opposite shoulder, his fingers caressing her upper arm. That was all it took to stoke her inner fires again.
"Peter, ahem… that's having an effect on me," she said demurely.
"Really?" Peter looked pleased. "I'll have to file that away and remember it for the future."
"How'd you feel when we saw Michael?" he asked.
"Terrible. I could actually… almost feel his loneliness."
"Me too. I was just wondering if you felt the same."
"Why does he have to be so stubborn? He feels for both of us, yet he runs from us like we're evil, or out to get him, or something."
"Well, let's just be patient. He will come around, you'll see." Peter's words comforted her. Even though seeing Michael in a foul mood caused from seeing them, Leslie decided she wasn't going to let it ruin her evening out with Peter. She snuggled up to him, and he responded as if they hadn't touched each other for weeks, when in fact it hadn't been more than two days. Peter tried not to go to her house after practice every night, but was finding it more and more difficult to stay away. She was his drug of choice. And Michael, of course, had noticed. Most of the time Peter spent the night with Leslie. They never grew tired of making love, everything seeming brand new every time they got into bed together.
Peter continued to sneak in kisses that turned into some serious making out. Leslie found herself getting hopelessly aroused, her panties soaked, her nipples rock hard, and she had the worse urge to sit on his lap right there in the booth, release his erection and let him make love to her.
They danced to both fast and slow songs. Peter was a sexy, animated dancer. She had to grind her teeth together to keep from grabbing him. For the slow dances, he was smooth and sleek. Sometimes they barely moved on the floor—her arms wrapped around his neck, his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close. They made a stunning picture, the low lights glinting off their hair that was nearly the same color, kissing often, then going back to the booth to continue. By the time the evening was over, Leslie was dying to get Peter alone.
In her bedroom, Peter asked if she'd liked showing so much affection in public. Bashfully, she agreed she had.
"We could do it again, and in different ways," his voice was low and seductive. He had a way of whispering sexy things directly into her ear, making her tummy clench in desire.
"How so?"
"Well, we could do a lot of kissing on the beach, for one. While the days are still warm enough. We could think of all kinds of things, I'm sure."
"A park, maybe?"
"Yeah… make sure no little kids are around, and get friendly on a blanket," his eyes lit up with anticipation.
"Peter, sometimes you're almost kinky," she giggled.
"I know. You bring it out in me."
Leslie came to the realization that Michael and Peter had more in common than she'd thought—they both had a wild, naughty side. Spicy. Who would have known? Peter appearing so innocent, and Mike so reserved. And that brought on a strange, indescribable arousal for her. She almost felt wanton.
Later on, after some very passionate sex, Peter mentioned there was going to be a haunted house next weekend in the neighborhood, and at least three of the Monkees planned to go. He asked her along.
"I take it Michael isn't going?"
"You guessed right."
"I know, I know. He's too dignified for that."
Peter laughed and nodded.
"Don't you have a gig that night?"
"Yeah, but the haunted house is at seven-thirty, the gig is at nine."
"Isn't that cutting it a little close?"
"A little, but we'll already be in our costumes. We'll just meet Michael at the club."
They went to see Mrs. Marston the next day, and Leslie, somewhat reluctantly and uncomfortably, filled her in on the details as tactfully as she could. Somewhat vague details, but the message was clear. How both guys had been fine with her dating them both, and then how Michael had gone into his blue mood, and separated himself. Leslie skirted around the issue of making love with both men, touching on it only with delicate hints, but it was obvious enough that she was certain Mrs. Marston had no doubts.
"So Michael is not sure how he feels about you dating them both? I can't imagine why," Mrs. Marston said, sarcasm coloring her words. "He feels deeply for you. I imagine he's very envious of Peter right now," she added. "Maybe he suggested you seeing them both in a heated moment." That had Leslie thinking. "Men sometimes do that, you know. Then later on, they realize they weren't serious."
"Peter said he'd come around though. That he just needs time."
"What will happen then?" Mrs. Marston was reasonably sure she already knew what might possibly happen, but she didn't dare breathe a word of it to Leslie for fear Leslie would think she was perverted. There was always the possibility though. After all, it was the 60s.
"I guess I'll just… date… them both," Leslie didn't meet Mrs. Marston's eyes. "I care… so much for them both. Giving up either one would… just about be the death of me."
"I know dear… I know." Mrs. Marston patted Leslie's arm, and sent up a silent prayer that nothing would go terribly wrong in such a touchy situation. That Peter or Mike wouldn't blow up, as she felt Michael could be a ticking time bomb if he were in the right, or in this case, the wrong, mood. She wasn't as worried about Peter, he being such a peaceful being. She felt also, though, that Michael cared too much for Peter to do him serious harm. She'd seen with her own eyes how close they were—the whole band was—when she'd watched them play. She hoped Leslie knew how blessed she was to have those very special boys looking out for her.
Leslie wanted to tell Mrs. Marston the entire story—the part about Peter and Michael being attracted to each other as well, but she felt it might be too much for Mrs. Marston to handle at once. Mrs. Marston hadn't shown overt surprise when she'd hinted diplomatically that she was seeing both guys on an intimate level. But the other part might be pushing it. Most of all, Leslie didn't want Mrs. Marston shunning her—feeling she was showing a lack of morals. Leslie struggled enough with that all by herself. Another thing bothering Leslie lately was the fact that she was seeing a man who was involved with another man. Not to mention them living together, and being best friends. If she herself weren't so close to it, she'd seriously question anyone else who was doing it. So she saved it for now, tucked away where it would slumber until she had to face it.
Peter and Veronica were playing with Breezy, teaching her to sit and wait while they threw her ball, and not move until they told her to "get it!" Then Breezy would be off as if breaking from a starting gate, like quicksilver. Leslie had never seen a dog run so fast. The image of Breezy running so quickly, all four feet off the ground at once, her ears pinned back, such concentration on her face made Leslie realize that Breezy was happy with her new life. Leslie often wondered if dogs ever thought about their former owners. Ones they really loved, but for one reason or another, couldn't keep them. Leslie realized how much Breezy's owners had cared—enough to let her go when they realized they could no longer take care of her. Leslie had asked the guy at the shelter to tell her former owners how thrilled she was to get such an incredible dog, and how she'd do her best to make her happy. He had said he would. She hoped he had followed through.
Later on, as they were readying to leave, Peter gave Leslie a sweet three or four second kiss. Leslie was taken aback that he would do this in front of Mrs. Marston and Veronica. She wondered what Veronica thought. She wasn't sure if Veronica realized she was seeing both Michael and Peter. But what was done, was done, and there was nothing she could do about it. It obviously didn't bother Peter so she wouldn't let it bother her either.
Halloween night came, and the Monkeemobile arrived, Peter appearing at her door. They had agreed that no one would mention what costumes they'd be wearing so it would be a surprise. And it surely was. Leslie had dressed as a French maid. She especially liked the idea, as she wanted to entice Peter—as if he needed it. Peter blew her out of the water though, when he walked in the door. Expecting something silly, Leslie gasped in shock. He was Rhett Butler in Gone With the Wind! Hair slicked back and all! He had on a white, ruffled shirt, and the "greasy kid stuff" pomade he'd put in his hair made it appear quite a few shades darker. He also wore a fake dark brown mustache that was pretty convincing. Oh my God! He looked so different with his hair combed back! Almost like a stranger. And so very sophisticated.
As Leslie was busy feasting her eyes on him, Peter was doing the same with her. Leslie wasn't uncomfortable with her costume, as mini skirts were the rage of the day, but the way Peter was looking at her… the skirt came to halfway up her thigh, whereas many minis of the day would barely cover the crotch, yet Peter couldn't seem to stare at her enough.
"Word of warning… Michael is going to the haunted house," said Peter when he was able to find his voice again. Leslie had not expected this! Well, thank goodness Peter had warned her! As they walked out to the GTO, Peter opened the door for her and she saw that Michael had dressed up as a cowboy (what could be more fitting?) and he looked scrumptious in tight Wrangler jeans, polished cowboy boots, a sharp blue Western shirt with a swirly silver pattern and pearl buttons and Stetson hat. Davy was positively dashing in a prince costume, and Micky, bless his heart, was dressed as a court jester. They were all dressed mostly as she would have expected except for Peter.
Michael dragged his eyes away from Leslie with considerable effort. Peter might amaze, confuse and frustrate him, but at least with Leslie, he knew how he felt. Lust, adoration. How unfortunate, though, to be falling in love with someone who fancied another man.
Leslie turned in her seat and looked at all the guys in admiration as she sat in the front, Peter having practically shoved her in beside Michael. He felt that she, being the lady, deserved the place of honor. Davy, always devastatingly handsome no matter what he wore, looked positively regal. Gallant Peter took her breath away. Micky had a self-satisfied grin plastered on his face, knowing he'd picked the most appropriate costume for himself, the jokester of the group. Leslie caught Michael casting a fleeting glance at her legs. She wondered who had talked him into going to the haunted house tonight. Or if he'd just decided it was time he be more sociable?
When they had arrived, and Michael exited the car, she saw he wore a big silver belt buckle with two horse heads engraved in it. It only served to make him look even more alluring, especially when he casually put his thumbs in the front pockets. Hot damn!
The haunted house was intriguing. Right as they walked in, someone jumped out at them, directly in their path. No one was expecting it so soon. Leslie screamed, Peter, Micky and Davy jumped, and Mike just stood there, unaffected. How did he have such good control, even when something so unforeseen happened? Didn't he have a nervous system? Thought Leslie.
The house was very well planned and the layout was perfect for the purpose. It was easily the best haunted house Leslie had ever been in. Various ghosts, goblins and witches flew about over their heads, eerie laughter was piped in, mournful howls, then a monster walked by that must have been seven feet tall. How did they do that, wondered Leslie. His shoulders looked easily three feet wide. They walked through a narrow corridor, spiders on webs were lowered directly in front of their faces with perfect timing. The corridor eventually opened into a large room, and it was so pitch dark that Leslie couldn't see a foot in front of her. She hadn't clung to Peter as she'd wanted to, because of Michael, and now she found herself disoriented in the dark. A cold draft, evidently part of the haunted house experience, and meant to alarm them, swooshed through the room with a low whine.
Suddenly, she had the feeling someone was standing very, very close to her. So close there wasn't an inch to spare. A hand came out of the dark and touched her cheek ever so lightly. Then soft breath wafted against her skin in the same place the hand had been, causing goose bumps to rise on her neck and arms. Lips… very soft, full, and slightly moist brushed against hers. The slightest suggestion of a kiss, and also unfamiliar. Interesting. A hint of a pleasant smell tickled her nose. A subtle aroma of mint, soap, aftershave and clean skin. Confused, she reached out to try to figure out who it was, but whoever it was must have backed off quickly as her hand met with nothing but empty, black space.
The encounter had been fleeting, yet so intense that she could almost imagine the odor of sweet sex in the air. It was that sultry.
"Leslie?" Peter's comforting voice came out of the darkness. "I'm right here," she sighed out loud in relief when his hand took hers from the opposite side. Just then a bolt of lightning filling the entire far wall of the room flashed, thunder booming loudly enough to shake the floor afterward. Very effectively, it startled all of them. When the room was lit up for that one second, Leslie looked in the direction the mystery kisser had come from, and no one but Davy stood there. He wore a strange expression. Absolutely baffling. It was teasing, smug and playful all at once. The stinker!
Once outside of the haunted house, and back into the light, Peter let go of her hand, not wanting to call attention to them from the others, and Leslie, being sensitized by all that had happened inside, was trying to act normally, but it was proving to be futile. She had a feeling Davy had planned it that way. "You okay, Leslie?" asked Micky. She pretended the haunted house had shaken her up a bit, thus explaining her distracted behavior. She sliced a cautious glance at Davy, and he was boldly looking right at her. He threw her a conspiratorial wink, smiled, casually chewed his gum—that was the mint smell, she realized, and then tumbled into the Monkeemobile, followed by the others.
On to the club they went, Leslie still slightly in a state of shock. She slowly realized Davy's behavior had been executed harmlessly. It was completely innocuous; Davy was adorable, and probably got away with stunts like that all the time. She saw now that it was designed to be their little secret. Herself and Davy. No one else had to know.
They really had to hustle to set up in time. Many of the club goers were dressed up, and they seemed to enjoy the Monkees' costumes too. Micky drumming as a court jester was a big hit. He certainly made the most of it.
The night was magical. When Micky and Peter sang "Words" together with everyone playing different instruments than they usually played, Leslie was struck by how talented these guys really were. Micky with Davy's tambourine, Peter playing lead on Michael's Gretch, and singing lead along with Micky instead of back-up, Michael playing Peter's bass, and Davy on the drums. What an unexpected change! If Leslie hadn't known different, she would have surely thought they played these instruments routinely.
"Pleasant Valley Sunday," came next, which Peter had admitted to Leslie as being his favorite song. These two songs back to back had the audience entranced. But when Davy and Peter sang "Shades of Grey," the place went completely silent, almost reverent. The haunting flavor of the song and the harmony between those two went straight through to her heart, almost wrenching a sob out of Leslie.
Peter, of course, didn't come home with her. He waited until Michael and the others had gone to bed, then showed up at 2:30. Leslie regretted having to tell Peter it was her time of the month. She watched his face, knowing how disappointed he must be. He was such a sexual being. He smiled and shrugged.
"Hey, you think that's all I come over here for? Remember… I love your companionship too. We're not just lovers—we're also friends. I hope you'll let me hold you though," was his response. They undressed, then held each other in bed, kissing sweetly, laughing about the haunted house, discussing the songs that had affected Leslie so deeply tonight.
"Your voice… it's so low and sensual. I think "Shades of Grey" is my favorite song, so far."
"I'm not a lead singer," he reminded her.
"Maybe not, but your harmony with Davy was spectacular. Do you know it almost made me cry?"
Her eyes were moist just talking about it, and it pleased him that she had enjoyed his performance.
"You know, I heard Micky and Davy talking the other day. They didn't know I heard them. They were trying to figure out why Michael had seemingly given you up to me without a fight. Davy said he thought it was more complicated than what it appeared, that it didn't seem typical of Michael. Davy's quick, and even though they both would have to be blind not to notice Michael's coldness toward you, Davy was reading further into it. I think he might be on the brink of understanding that there are feelings all the way around. But he's such a lady's man that he probably can't understand why Michael and I… would have feelings for each other."
Leslie smiled inwardly, remembering the romantic, and slightly bratty, stunt Davy had pulled on her in the haunted house. Some people just seemed to be able to get away with almost anything. He was one of them. His cuteness gave him almost complete immunity from judgement.
"Has Michael said anything to you lately?"
"No, he's the same way with me as he is with you… distant… barely civil."
They fell asleep spooning, the way she had with Michael not that long ago. She felt Peter's hardness against her, and also a few times during the night, but he reassured her that he wasn't trying to start anything; it was just that it was involuntary when he was near her. He made her feel valued, desirable and warm from within. She smiled as she once again let sleep wash over her.
The following morning, she couldn't hold back any longer. "Shouldn't I approach Michael?" Leslie asked Peter as they were getting dressed.
Peter looked up as he buttoned up his shirt. "You can do anything you want, Leslie. I'm not going to tell you that you can't. I just can't guarantee he'll be especially cordial."
"So… you really think I should wait on him?"
"All I'm saying is that's what I'm going to do. From past experience, I know to leave him alone."
"Then you think I should follow your advice… follow your lead."
"I know it's hard Leslie. I feel… all tight inside when I'm around him. But I know I can't push him. He won't budge."
"I feel bad when he knows we're still seeing each other—even running into us at that club. It's like we're going on with our relationship, and leaving him behind. Almost flaunting it, throwing it in his face. That's how he must feel, don't you think?"
"You know I've offered to stay away from you several times."
"But you aren't answering me. Doesn't it bother you, or are you too caught up in 'us' that it overrides your consideration for Michael?"
She'd had to say it. It had been on her mind, nagging at her—trying to come to the surface her every waking moment. She'd been turning her head the other way and denying it.
The look in Peter's eyes was gloomy; they'd lost their sparkle. He studied her in silence. Then, his voice held incredulity with his next words. "Is that what you think? That I'm grabbing you and running, enjoying you when Michael is suffering the way he is?"
Peter's gloominess was eclipsed now by hurt. Hurt that ran deep.
"If that's what you think of me, Leslie, then why are you even still seeing me?"
Good question. The thing was, she didn't feel that way about Peter. She knew he wouldn't purposely do such a malevolent thing to Michael. She just wanted to hear him say he cared about what Michael was going through. That it troubled and haunted him as much as it did her. But she couldn't find the words. Peter wouldn't hurt anyone deliberately, that was uncontested. But it appeared differently, and even though Michael knew Peter even better than she did, did he realize he hadn't been forgotten, or kicked, like a cur, to the gutter? She wasn't convinced.
"Maybe you're right," he said. "If I need to stop seeing you too, Leslie, that's what I'll do. To prove to you… that I love and care for Michael… and his feelings."
"We should have done something sooner!" All Leslie's pent up emotions were bubbling to the top and began to cascade over.
"I've waited … because you said that was what we needed to do, but… I can't stand the thought of Michael thinking I've dumped him, you've dumped him, and… he's all alone!" She began to sob. This hadn't been right from the beginning. She should not have let her heart stay so closely connected to Peter, at Michael's expense. A portion of her heart belonged to Michael—a big portion.
Peter quietly stepped to the front door. "If you want me to go to Michael, I will. If you want us to go together, that's fine. And if you want to go to him alone, that's also fine. But I'll honor what you're heavily… hinting at. I'll stay away from you." He was gone before she could open her mouth to reply. She watched his slightly unsteady progress as he trudged with painstaking effort through the sand, back toward the Pad.