Part 12
Rich Warren unlocks the doors of his old apartment. He is suprised George hadn't changed the locks, but George was a busy person, and probably the thought had never crossed his mind. He shouldn't have had to change their locks, Rich should have just been more careful, and come back to him on his hands and knees. Rich could almost cry, George gave him everything he could ever need -or- want, he had known just when to cuddle him, when he needed to talk, and what mood he was in at all times. Even when George had been at work, and Rich would call him up. He knew what kind of day it had been, and he always knew when something was wrong. Rich had been a jerk, he had never been able to read George that well, it wasn't as if George didn't give him enough hints, but Rich had always been a "its my problem, my world" kind of guy.Rich frowns, why had he been such a jerk to George, he had been so right for him. George was just the type of person he had needed, and he had tossed him away like some old piece of newspaper, where one would tolerantly read of serial killers, and then ignore it. He opens it slightly, waiting for an alarm to sound. He had heard George had been robbed one day while he was at work, shortly after the gigantic fight, where Rich had stormed out, and vowed never to return. But here he was, he couldn't get this place out of his mind. It was his dream place, they said you could never return home, and this had been the only place where everything had felt right, it was home, and he had made himself not worthy to glimpse inside, it was some utopia, he could not have anymore, but needed it desparatly.No alarm rings, and Rich motions for Tomas, as he slides inside.
Tomas from his postion in the hall, follows Rich, closing the door behind them. He gazes at the small entry way. A small painting greets them, a beautiful picture of a place in France. One you would see in a museum, -or- a very rich hotel. The colours were bright and grandeur, and did not seem to match what he had imagined. Rich didn't seem to be the type to appricate art. Next to the painting is a small black antique table, with a vase of real looking silk flowers, a golf bag with clubs is leaning against it casually. He still can't imagine Rich ever have living in this place. Even the wall paper with faint impressions of some middle eastern design, which was done delibrately to almost blend in with the beautiful oriential blue texture of the wallpaper. It was too carefully laid out, too together for this man with the pancake makeup. This lover must have a very organised mind, -or- really knew who to fool people when they first walked in. Tomas glances at Rich, who is gawking at everything in the apartment, for some bizarre reason, which Tomas doesn't even want to know, but it can't hurt to ask. "Did he change it too much for you?"
"No, no, its exactly the same." He says aimlessly, and wanders into the main portion of the apartment. Tomas follows him. He gazes around the living room. It is not as formal as the hallway, he believes, with its art deco furniture, but its nice. It reminds him of one of those rooms from the seventies in a way, it even has a lava lamp, and bean bag chair in one corner. It was all very peaceful, from the crazy looking black bookcase, to the black tv, that still had rabbit ears, even the computer in the corner, looked liked it belonged from another era. Though he could tell the computer, was from this decade, but the room made it look otherwise. The stack of computer disks scattered on the white desk, next to the monitor didn't look supicious either. He gazed around the room one more time, noticing little piles of things like magazines scattered across an ottoman, and books stacked on the tv. A crossword puzzle spilled out from its book on the floor, near the beanbag chair. Though one knew they really were meant to be cleaned up, they did not distract you, and gave the room more character.
Rich picks up a long sleeved white muslin shirt, from its postion on the couch arm. He sniffs it. He takes in the scent of George, and imagines him taking this off from a long day of work, and stretching on the red velvet couch, and using it at his pillow. George did that occasionally, there were pillows on the couch, some weird little multicoloured throw pillows, George had found at a flea market, that really matched the couch but sometimes he was just too tired to reach for one. After a long day of sitting in a chair all day, the shirts always clung to his back from the chair, and he always stripped them off then he walked in the door. Rich misses seeing that, he would always delibrately sat in the bean bag chair, waiting for him to come home, if Rich hadn't been working at the time. Sometimes, George would come in, sweat pouring down his face, and newly exposed chest, and when he saw Rich he would smile, say sweetly "Honey, I am home." Rich would answer back, sweetly, "I have been waiting for you, loverboy." and George would place his shirt neatly on the couch arm, and with happiness in his eyes come to him ,kicking his shoes and socks off a few feet from the chair, and sit on Rich's lap and they would cuddle in the beanbag chair, and talk about the day, -or- things until Georgie fell asleep in his arms. Rich frowns.
He goes to the beanbag chair, now, beside it he bends down, and scoops up the pieces. "He is still trying to finish that Taj Mahal puzzle." He muses to himself. George had been trying to finish it for years, it wasn't that he was slow, its just everytime he resumed work on it, he was always drained, and didn't ever accomplish more than putting a couple of pieces together before falling asleep on the puzzle. Rich smiles as he remembers walking in here many times, seeing George stretched on the floor, his head on top of puzzle pieces sleeping away, soundingly. He puts the pieces in the box, and puts the box away. Rich turns to Tomas. "Come with me."
Tomas nods, and Rich starts to walk towards the entrance, but turns down a hallway. Tomas follows.The hallway is very simple with no outstanding features, just a normal hallway, with its normal blue plushy carpet.He does notice the strong smell of aftershave drifting through it, as after this George fellow applies it, to his shaved face, he walks through the hallway. The sound of soft techo music is heard in the first door they pass on the right, faint smells of cooking aromas waft from it as well, it must be the kitchen. They continue down the hallway, and pass a open door on the left, and Tomas gazes into to find a small simple bathroom, which reminds him of one he has seen in turkey, except it has a shower unit, and not turkish bath. Rich opens the door across from it. Tomas glances into the room, the wood furniture has dust on it, which appears to have been there before God said "let their be light," The dresser against the wall, has drawers pulled out as if someone had been pulling things out in a hurry, a picture of a biker man from what appears like an original, hasn't been mint condition in a couple of decade, poster from the sixties, is coming off the wall, almost as if someone had tried to take it off. The bed looks supicious though, it is made neatly, like it hasn't been slept in for months. Playbills are scattered over the floor, and Tomas bends down to pcik up a picture of the cast from Cats, as he walks in. "Let me guess, your room?"
"Shut up, and so what if this is my room?" Rich says angerlily. "This is where you will hide out, until I come get you."
Rich leaves, closing the door behind him.
Tomas shakes his head, he begins to pick up the playbills, and starts a neat stack on the bed, if hes going to be in here, he might as well clean it, it doesn't look like this George, probably doesn't even come near this room. He notices a small picture amongst the playbills. He picks it up.Someone had attempted to rip it in half but failed, miserably. A picture of Rich and a guy smiling, they are backstage at a show. Rich has his arm around the man, and it looks like a happy moment. This must be George, he thinks. He turns it over to the back. It has an inscription in small curving letters, Tomas wipes off some of the dust, and reads.
"Rich, found this on one of the rolls of film, I had developed. Its from the Guys and Dolls show we saw in New York, where we had our first kiss. I thought you might like to keep it, and I am also using it as an excuse to tell you how much I love you. I have told you many times before, but you're the best thing that came into my life, after I lost Julie, and couldn't feel comfortable with women anymore. And I know a lot of people disapprove of me becoming gay. I was uncertain about it first, but I know I can never go back to women, I am too scared that they will die, as Julie did.I do know It is so rare for people to know more than one person killed in a car bomb.But I am just scared about it. You helped me to find the peace I needed. Thank you for coming in my life, and showing me, I can find my soul mate after all, and not worry about losing them. You are my lifetime partner, and I hope it never changes. Love your little Geo."
(more to come)
Rich Warren unlocks the doors of his old apartment. He is suprised George hadn't changed the locks, but George was a busy person, and probably the thought had never crossed his mind. He shouldn't have had to change their locks, Rich should have just been more careful, and come back to him on his hands and knees. Rich could almost cry, George gave him everything he could ever need -or- want, he had known just when to cuddle him, when he needed to talk, and what mood he was in at all times. Even when George had been at work, and Rich would call him up. He knew what kind of day it had been, and he always knew when something was wrong. Rich had been a jerk, he had never been able to read George that well, it wasn't as if George didn't give him enough hints, but Rich had always been a "its my problem, my world" kind of guy.Rich frowns, why had he been such a jerk to George, he had been so right for him. George was just the type of person he had needed, and he had tossed him away like some old piece of newspaper, where one would tolerantly read of serial killers, and then ignore it. He opens it slightly, waiting for an alarm to sound. He had heard George had been robbed one day while he was at work, shortly after the gigantic fight, where Rich had stormed out, and vowed never to return. But here he was, he couldn't get this place out of his mind. It was his dream place, they said you could never return home, and this had been the only place where everything had felt right, it was home, and he had made himself not worthy to glimpse inside, it was some utopia, he could not have anymore, but needed it desparatly.No alarm rings, and Rich motions for Tomas, as he slides inside.
Tomas from his postion in the hall, follows Rich, closing the door behind them. He gazes at the small entry way. A small painting greets them, a beautiful picture of a place in France. One you would see in a museum, -or- a very rich hotel. The colours were bright and grandeur, and did not seem to match what he had imagined. Rich didn't seem to be the type to appricate art. Next to the painting is a small black antique table, with a vase of real looking silk flowers, a golf bag with clubs is leaning against it casually. He still can't imagine Rich ever have living in this place. Even the wall paper with faint impressions of some middle eastern design, which was done delibrately to almost blend in with the beautiful oriential blue texture of the wallpaper. It was too carefully laid out, too together for this man with the pancake makeup. This lover must have a very organised mind, -or- really knew who to fool people when they first walked in. Tomas glances at Rich, who is gawking at everything in the apartment, for some bizarre reason, which Tomas doesn't even want to know, but it can't hurt to ask. "Did he change it too much for you?"
"No, no, its exactly the same." He says aimlessly, and wanders into the main portion of the apartment. Tomas follows him. He gazes around the living room. It is not as formal as the hallway, he believes, with its art deco furniture, but its nice. It reminds him of one of those rooms from the seventies in a way, it even has a lava lamp, and bean bag chair in one corner. It was all very peaceful, from the crazy looking black bookcase, to the black tv, that still had rabbit ears, even the computer in the corner, looked liked it belonged from another era. Though he could tell the computer, was from this decade, but the room made it look otherwise. The stack of computer disks scattered on the white desk, next to the monitor didn't look supicious either. He gazed around the room one more time, noticing little piles of things like magazines scattered across an ottoman, and books stacked on the tv. A crossword puzzle spilled out from its book on the floor, near the beanbag chair. Though one knew they really were meant to be cleaned up, they did not distract you, and gave the room more character.
Rich picks up a long sleeved white muslin shirt, from its postion on the couch arm. He sniffs it. He takes in the scent of George, and imagines him taking this off from a long day of work, and stretching on the red velvet couch, and using it at his pillow. George did that occasionally, there were pillows on the couch, some weird little multicoloured throw pillows, George had found at a flea market, that really matched the couch but sometimes he was just too tired to reach for one. After a long day of sitting in a chair all day, the shirts always clung to his back from the chair, and he always stripped them off then he walked in the door. Rich misses seeing that, he would always delibrately sat in the bean bag chair, waiting for him to come home, if Rich hadn't been working at the time. Sometimes, George would come in, sweat pouring down his face, and newly exposed chest, and when he saw Rich he would smile, say sweetly "Honey, I am home." Rich would answer back, sweetly, "I have been waiting for you, loverboy." and George would place his shirt neatly on the couch arm, and with happiness in his eyes come to him ,kicking his shoes and socks off a few feet from the chair, and sit on Rich's lap and they would cuddle in the beanbag chair, and talk about the day, -or- things until Georgie fell asleep in his arms. Rich frowns.
He goes to the beanbag chair, now, beside it he bends down, and scoops up the pieces. "He is still trying to finish that Taj Mahal puzzle." He muses to himself. George had been trying to finish it for years, it wasn't that he was slow, its just everytime he resumed work on it, he was always drained, and didn't ever accomplish more than putting a couple of pieces together before falling asleep on the puzzle. Rich smiles as he remembers walking in here many times, seeing George stretched on the floor, his head on top of puzzle pieces sleeping away, soundingly. He puts the pieces in the box, and puts the box away. Rich turns to Tomas. "Come with me."
Tomas nods, and Rich starts to walk towards the entrance, but turns down a hallway. Tomas follows.The hallway is very simple with no outstanding features, just a normal hallway, with its normal blue plushy carpet.He does notice the strong smell of aftershave drifting through it, as after this George fellow applies it, to his shaved face, he walks through the hallway. The sound of soft techo music is heard in the first door they pass on the right, faint smells of cooking aromas waft from it as well, it must be the kitchen. They continue down the hallway, and pass a open door on the left, and Tomas gazes into to find a small simple bathroom, which reminds him of one he has seen in turkey, except it has a shower unit, and not turkish bath. Rich opens the door across from it. Tomas glances into the room, the wood furniture has dust on it, which appears to have been there before God said "let their be light," The dresser against the wall, has drawers pulled out as if someone had been pulling things out in a hurry, a picture of a biker man from what appears like an original, hasn't been mint condition in a couple of decade, poster from the sixties, is coming off the wall, almost as if someone had tried to take it off. The bed looks supicious though, it is made neatly, like it hasn't been slept in for months. Playbills are scattered over the floor, and Tomas bends down to pcik up a picture of the cast from Cats, as he walks in. "Let me guess, your room?"
"Shut up, and so what if this is my room?" Rich says angerlily. "This is where you will hide out, until I come get you."
Rich leaves, closing the door behind him.
Tomas shakes his head, he begins to pick up the playbills, and starts a neat stack on the bed, if hes going to be in here, he might as well clean it, it doesn't look like this George, probably doesn't even come near this room. He notices a small picture amongst the playbills. He picks it up.Someone had attempted to rip it in half but failed, miserably. A picture of Rich and a guy smiling, they are backstage at a show. Rich has his arm around the man, and it looks like a happy moment. This must be George, he thinks. He turns it over to the back. It has an inscription in small curving letters, Tomas wipes off some of the dust, and reads.
"Rich, found this on one of the rolls of film, I had developed. Its from the Guys and Dolls show we saw in New York, where we had our first kiss. I thought you might like to keep it, and I am also using it as an excuse to tell you how much I love you. I have told you many times before, but you're the best thing that came into my life, after I lost Julie, and couldn't feel comfortable with women anymore. And I know a lot of people disapprove of me becoming gay. I was uncertain about it first, but I know I can never go back to women, I am too scared that they will die, as Julie did.I do know It is so rare for people to know more than one person killed in a car bomb.But I am just scared about it. You helped me to find the peace I needed. Thank you for coming in my life, and showing me, I can find my soul mate after all, and not worry about losing them. You are my lifetime partner, and I hope it never changes. Love your little Geo."
(more to come)