-Two-

Six o’clock the following morning, Daniel was awoken not by the blaring of his alarm clock, but by the persistent jangling of his telephone in the living room. In his sleepy delirium he made a valiant attempt at ignoring it—until the machine came on.

"Dan, I know you’re there. You don’t work on Saturdays. Get up and answer me."

"Fuck off Charlie!" Daniel grumbled and yanked the comforter up over his head. It did nothing to drown out Charlamaine’s nagging voice, but everything to stifle his breathing. In frustration he threw back the blanket, stood up rather dizzily, and stormed into the living room.

He snatched up the receiver. "Do you think that everyone abides by your schedule, or am I just that special?"

"Don’t get smart with me," Charlamaine admonished; his tone reminded Daniel of his mother, or some other female relative that had always enjoyed fussing over his every fault.

"I’m too fucking exhausted to get smart with anyone," Daniel moaned and wandered into the kitchen. Through the window he could see nothing but dismal, black thunderheads. The bad weather from yesterday was far from over, it seemed.

"Anyway," Charlamaine went on, dragging the word out for longer than necessary. Daniel heard the clang of pots from the other end of the phone; Charlamaine was cooking too. "I’m in town for a couple of days. I think we should meet up."

"I’m not attracted to you, Charlie," Daniel grumbled and threw two pieces of freezer-burnt bread into the toaster. It crackled pathetically before wheezing to life. "We’ve had this conversation before."

"I’m not asking you out on a date, for Christ’s sake," Charlamaine snapped, though Daniel could hear the traces of hurt in his friend’s voice. "I just want to talk to you. Is that too much to ask?"

"Whatever."

Charlamaine sighed, and a silence followed that stretched on interminably. Daniel couldn’t bring himself to hang up, but he certainly wasn’t going to apologize for what he said; Charlamaine had done far more in his life that merited an apology to Daniel than simply rejecting a date. Daniel threw the two burnt pieces of toast onto a paper plate, then went about making coffee, all in silence.

Finally, Charlamaine couldn’t stand it anymore. "Get your shower and get dressed—I’ll be at your place in thirty minutes."

"What!?" Daniel shrieked, dropping the knife he was using to spread margarine across his bread. "Charlamaine—"

"See you in a few." He hung up.

"God damn you!" Daniel shouted as loud as he could at the phone and threw it into the living room. It hit the back of his sofa and dropped harmlessly onto the floor. Daniel scowled that it didn’t break and turned back to his breakfast. He forced down the pieces of toast and drained his coffee mug, then rushed into the bathroom.

Generally he enjoyed taking long, leisurely baths with the lights down, candles lit, and his radio playing. Since William’s death he had abandoned all of that. He took quick showers that didn’t require him to be in the bathroom for longer than necessary. He rushed through the process, scrubbing his scalp painfully hard with his nails. Getting out of the shower, he didn’t have time to shave, because he heard persistent pounding on his front door.

"Open the door!"

"A minute, you bastard!" Daniel snarled and staggered into his room, fishing through his drawers for something to wear.

He staggered back into the living room, yanking on his trousers with one hand and grabbing a shirt off the couch with the other. He grabbed the doorknob and yanked it open; he was livid! At six thirty in the morning, he did not feel like having a flaming queer pose as his mother, to lecture him about the importance of friendship and support.

"What do you want, Charlamaine!?" he seethed.

For a moment, he wondered if perhaps he had opened a fashion magazine and one of the slim, effeminately garbed, tragic poet-models had wandered right out of the pages, complete with a slim cigarette held between two long fingers and the black turtle neck that came up to his chin. Charlamaine was, for all intents and purposes, rather attractive; his skin was pale but not translucent; his hair was a dark brown, meticulously washed and probably tended to by several scantly glad Puerto Rican men at all hours of the day; a small, silver earring pierced his left earlobe with, of course, a tiny gay ride emblem dangling from the end.

Charlamaine smiled. "To see you, of course." His smile grew sour, however, and he cast his appraising green gaze over Daniel with a frown. "However, had I realized that your sense of style had regressed to this detestable level… I would have bought you a new wardrobe before dropping by."

"Not all of us figured out the governor’s dirty little secret, Charlamaine," Daniel hissed and pushed the door all the way open. He turned and stalked back into the depths of his apartment. "I can’t afford to go shopping every other day, like you can. And put out the cigarette before you come inside."

He heard Charlamaine scoff, but he was already in the kitchen making himself another cup of coffee.

Charlamaine stepped inside much like a bird avoiding filth and quietly closed the door behind him. "Nice," he remarked sarcastically, looking all around the interior of the apartment. "Very… avant-garde."

"Speak English, you faggot," Daniel muttered and wandered back into the living room with a mug of coffee in one hand.

"How rude," Charlamaine cooed with a flutter of his lashes and an unaffected smile. He gingerly took a seat on the sofa and crossed his knees. "Come here, Danny, and sit with me. I’ve got plans for you."

"Plans?" Daniel repeated suspiciously. He remained where he stood beside the window, staring at Charlamaine distrustfully. "What sort of plans?"

"If you’ll come and sit with me, I just might be tempted to tell you." Another totally unaffected smile. Daniel curled his upper lip, repulsed, but he obeyed and slouched back into the sofa beside Charlamaine.

Silence followed. Charlamaine watched Daniel drink his coffee patiently, chin resting on his slender fingers; Daniel glared at him irately—or what he could see of him. In his rush to get ready, he’d forgotten to fetch his glasses. Now all was a rather hideous, grayish-black blur, and Charlamaine’s aloofness did nothing to better his mood. In fact, his presence made his mood even worse.

Finally, he set the mug down and fixed Charlamaine with a pointed, though slightly blind, glare. "What do you want with me after so long, huh?" he muttered scathingly. "To talk about William with me?" He voice a half laugh, half embittered smirk. "What do you know about William, other than he was the man that stood between me and your getting into my pants?"

"We were all friends once, Daniel," Charlamaine reminded him gently, and his green eyes were honest, open. "We used to spend time with each other on the weekends, all of us. You and William, Ian and Matthew, Cassie and I… We were inseparable at one point, do you remember that? Middle school? High school?"

"I don’t want to remember any of it," Daniel replied coldly and let his eyes close. "Not right now."

"I know," Charlamaine answered with empathy. "I know you don’t, and so does everyone else. It hurts us to see you in pain, Danny, it really does." Charlamaine cleared his throat delicately and placed his hands on his knees. "So, we’ve come to a decision."

"What?" Daniel said quickly, snapping out of his miserable reverie. He studied Charlamaine’s face critically; something did not seem right.

Charlamaine hesitated before speaking. "At the last class reunion, before Ian and Matthew went to France, before Cassie went back to Vermont, we decided on something: You need to get out of Constance for a little while, Dan." At Daniel’s shocked, revolted stare, Charlamaine pressed on desperately. "This place is killing you, can’t you see that? Memories of William won’t make you happy here—they’ll only make his absence even harder to bear."

"What do you propose I do, then?" Daniel demanded with a sad frown. "Just pack up and leave? I’ve got a job here in Connecticut, Charlamaine, I’ve got obligations and I’ve got bills to pay. I know that may be a little difficult for you to understand, since you have no responsibilities of your own, but my pain doesn’t give me the right to simply let everything go."

"But you already have, Daniel," Charlamaine insisted sadly. He gestured around with one arm at the state of disarray of the apartment. "Look around you. You already have let everything go. You rid yourself of any happiness the night you found out Wills was dead."

Daniel flinched.

Charlamaine went on unwaveringly. "Cassie has a distant relative down in Alabama who recently lost her daughter in an accident in Tennessee. The old woman is looking after the two children now, and she can hardly manage it on her own. So Cassie thought… we all thought… you might be able to fly down to Alabama and help her out."

Daniel blanched. "Alabama? Fucking hell, Charlamaine, that’s smack dab in the center of the Bible belt! I’ll be condemned as a heretic two days in!"

"You’re twenty six years old, Daniel," Charlamaine reminded him sharply, "and you look like you’re thirty five. You’ll be dead by the time you’re forty at the rate you’re going. So you will not argue with me. You are going to Alabama, and you are going to get your life in order." He dug around in his satchel for a moment, then withdrew an airline ticket. He thrust it into Daniel’s hand. "Your plane leaves in a week. I’ve already discussed your plans with your employer, and he thinks it’s a good idea as well."

Daniel stared at the ticket in astonishment. Alabama? He couldn’t go to Alabama! That was possibly the once place in the United States that was worse than Connecticut! He shot a betrayed, angered glare at Charlamaine. "Who gave you the right to do any of this? Who said you could come in here and turn my life upside down?"

"If I didn’t do something, Daniel," Charlamaine said gravely, standing up, "then who would?" He lightly brushed off his trousers, then walked over to the door. "I’ll be by next Saturday at eleven in the morning to pick you up. Be ready."

Daniel could only stare after Charlamaine in silence as he let himself out and disappeared. Silence was once again his companion, along with the steady drip-drip-drip of the pipes and the sputter of his weary heating system. He looked back down at the airline ticket.

Alabama…?