No Other Life than This Ch. 04

"I can't believe I'd never seen that before!" Matt exclaimed, as the closing credits of 'Spinal Tap' started to roll.

"And you call yourself cultured," Benny scoffed condescendingly, though a smile at Matt's enthusiasm slipped through at the end.

"So, what other kinds of stuff do you like?"

"Other kinds of stuff?"

"Yeah. You know, books, music, theater. What do you like?"

"Watching sports. Baseball and football mainly. Oh, and men's swimming and water polo."

"Hmm, I'm sensing a pattern of tight pants and/or lycra here. I bet you watch men's diving, too."

"Why, yes, I do. And cycling isn't bad either, now that I think about it."

"Speed skating," Matt snickered, and Benny spread his hands in a you-got-me-there gesture. "Okay, watching sports. What else?"

Benny waved towards his DVD collection. "And I've got more movies downloaded."

Matt got up and went to peruse the titles. "There's an alarming amount of Mel Brooks here," he observed with obvious disapproval.

"Three of my top ten movies are by Mel Brooks."

"Okay. And obviously 'The In-Laws' and 'Spinal Tap'. That's five."

"And in no particular order 'Caddy Shack', 'Animal House', 'Big Lebowski', 'Airplane' and 'Stripes'. These days, at least, because they change."

"Wait, did you say top ten movies or comedies?"

"Movies."

"Your top ten movies are all comedies?" Matt asked in disbelief.

Benny nodded.

"Okay, what about books?"

"Don't really read books."

"Music?"

Benny shrugged.

"Theater?"

"No, not really."

"Painting? Photography?"

"Nope. Well, some Ansel Adams stuff. And years ago, I used to watch that guy on public TV, who was always painting happy trees."

"Let me get this straight. You basically like watching guys in tight pants and comedies? That's it?"

"That about covers it."

"You're a philistine. A Cheez-Doodle-eating philistine," Matt said in amazement. "Have you no redeeming interests or hobbies?"

"Not really," Benny said cheerfully. "I'm as shallow as they come."

Matt sank onto the couch looking defeated. "Poetry?" he asked hopefully after a couple of minutes.

"Limericks. You want to hear a couple of my favorites?"

Matt momentarily looked like he might, then he laughed. "Fine, I give up." He leaned back and smiled at Benny. "Didn't you promise me dinner after the movie?"

"I can't recall that I did. But I can feed you, if you're hungry."

"I'm hungry," Matt confirmed.

"You have to help though."

"Okay," Matt said agreeably, following Benny into the kitchen. "Are we making sandwiches?"

"Oh, I think I can rustle up something a little more substantial."

*******************

"You actually go on cooking vacations? Ben, and you said you had no redeeming hobbies!"

Matt polished off the last of his chicken and polenta and leaned back with a happy sigh. Benny smiled and held up the wine bottle inquiringly, and Matt pushed his glass closer.

"I've always liked cooking. Sometimes I think that if I'd grown up in a different family or environment, I might have done it professionally. "

"Mmm, I know what you mean. I don't think there was ever any question that I would be a doctor. All the men in our family were, from both sides, and I was groomed to it from an early age. The only reason Carrie escaped is that she passes out at the sight of blood."

"What would you have done otherwise?"

"Carpentry, I guess." Matt looked as if he expected Benny to make fun of him, but Benny just smiled.

"Well, as an orthopedic surgeon you still get to play around with hammers, saws and screws, right?"

"Yeah, but all the gore and screaming can get distracting," Matt grinned.

"Seriously, do you enjoy what you do?"

Matt nodded without hesitation. "Yes, I do. It's not always fun or pretty, and a lot of it is fairly standard stuff that anybody with a couple of years' experience could manage, but every now and then I get to make a real difference, you know?"

"Sure."

They sat silently for a while and Benny realized with some surprise that Matt could actually be a restful presence. Most of the time Benny was on edge around him, not necessarily in a bad way, just too aware of him, so that it felt almost impossible to behave naturally. And yet, for the most part Matt had been friendly and open, the few hours after their first meeting notwithstanding.

"Ben, may I smoke?"

After a moment's hesitation, Benny got up and brought Matt an ashtray. He'd never smoked, not cigarettes at any rate, but Phil had been a pack-a-day smoker, and there were still plenty of ashtrays around. Benny had given away very little after Phil's death; his clothes to the Salvation Army and his family photo albums to Liz, but otherwise everything in the apartment had belonged to them both and was still where they'd both placed it. Only the TV was new.

Matt had noticed his hesitation.

"If it bothers you..."

"No, it's fine. Really."

It was just that he wasn't sure he wanted anybody else using Phil's ashtray. Even after seven years. Leaning back in his chair, one hand curled around his wine glass, he watched Matt light up; he didn't realize how tense he was until Matt flicked his ash, and then it was suddenly okay. Feeling slightly ridiculous, he rolled his shoulders, relaxing them.

"Are you working tomorrow?"

"I'm covering an ER rotation in the evening. Saturday nights are a bitch."

"Well, if you don't need to get up early, would you like to watch another film?"

Matt looked surprised, but pleased. "Sure. I'll help you clean up first."

After a while, they were ensconced in the living room, watching 'The Producers'. It wasn't one of Benny's favorites, but Matt had picked it, because he'd seen the re-make and he wanted to compare. Matt was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the couch. Benny opted for the couch itself, and was lying on his side propped up against the arm. He spent more time gazing at Matt's profile, the line of his jaw, how he threw back his head when he laughed, than at the TV. After a while he allowed his hand to stroke through Matt's hair, curling the bright strands around his fingers, tugging at them gently. Matt turned his head and smiled at him, but otherwise didn't react, so Benny continued. He tried to breathe evenly and concentrate on the movie; he knew what Matt was expecting after it ended, and he wanted it too, God, did he want it, but he'd never brought anybody to the apartment before. He tried to tell himself that it was like the ashtray; it would be okay once they got started. And they'd stay in the living room. Hell, his couch was sturdier than Matt's, and they'd done fine there.

The characteristic sound of a Zippo opening and closing startled him out of his thoughts.

"Those things will kill you," he chided. "You're a doctor, you should know better."

"I do know better. But, hell, pretty much everything can kill you these days. Just crossing the street can kill you."

"That's right, it can," Benny responded calmly after a few seconds. He was rather pleased by how normal his voice had sounded. After all, people said stuff like that all the time.

"Ben? What is it?"

Matt had twisted around to look at him, and Benny saw the concern in his eyes, but didn't understand it.

"What do you mean? Nothing." He tried to smile. "Everything's fine."

"Are you sure? You look..." Matt shrugged one shoulder, as if unable to find the right word to describe how Benny looked.

"I'm fine," Benny repeated.

He hadn't realized he was rubbing his chest until Matt's fingers touched his knuckles lightly.

"Are you in pain?"

Benny shook his hand off, and stood up. "I said I'm fine," he snapped. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and looked around, as if he could find the excuse he needed to stop the movie and get Matt to leave hiding somewhere in the room.

He didn't have to think very long. Matt reached for the remote control himself, then stood up and came to stand in front of Benny. Hands in pockets, he mirrored Benny's stance, only his shoulders were relaxed and not hunched up around his ears, like Benny's.

"Ben, how did your partner die?"

"Listen, I think it's time y–"

"Tell me."

Benny sighed. "Crossing the street," he said, his lips stretching into a grin that he somehow couldn't suppress, even though nothing struck him as even remotely funny. He gave a short laugh. "Crossing the fucking street."

Matt sucked in his breath.

"Jesus, Ben, I'm sorry. I had no idea. I wouldn't have–"

"Why do you call me Ben? Nobody calls me that," Benny interrupted tiredly, turning away from Matt.

They'd finished the bottle of wine, and opening another one suddenly seemed like a great idea. He wandered into the kitchen and pulled a bottle out of the rack, then decided that taking the cork out was too much damn work, so he opened the fridge and got himself a beer instead. He popped the tin open and drank deeply.

"I guess I thought only the people who knew you when you were a kid called you Benny. And Carrie, because of Roger." Matt had followed him into the kitchen and was leaning against the door frame, hands still in his pockets.

Benny propped a hip against the counter. "You're right. The rest call me Benjamin." Why was he even having this fucking inane discussion? "Would you like a beer?"

"No, thanks. I probably should get going."

They stared at each other across the kitchen, and Benny felt a slight stirring, a faint echo of how he'd felt before, when he'd been lying on the couch and touching Matt's hair, but mostly he just felt exhausted, like he had when he'd been fresh from the hospital.

"It's late," he agreed.

He walked Matt to the door and waited while he put on his jacket and wound a brightly colored scarf that clashed with his hair around his neck, then opened the door to let him out. Matt hesitated, then turned to face Benny and covered Benny's hand on the door handle with one of his own.

"I'm sorry about what I said. It was thoughtless."

Benny shrugged. "It's alright. You couldn't have known," he assured Matt woodenly.

Matt's breast rose and fell in a soundless sigh. He leaned over and kissed Benny lightly on the lips. "Goodnight, Benjamin," he murmured, then kissed him again and walked out.

Benny watched him until the elevator dinged and its door slid open, but Matt only looked back once he was inside, and he gave Benny a small wave right before the door shut again.

*******************

"If the Jets blow this, I'm getting me to a nunnery," Roger proclaimed dramatically, rubbing the bill of his cap.

"Roger, will you please take that stupid cap off? And maybe, I don't know, burn it?"

"Hey, this cap got us to the AFC East playoffs twice in the last four years. Where are the snacks?"

Benny shook his head in exasperation. "Right in front of you."

"Carrot and celery sticks? And what the fuck is this? Plain popcorn? You're shitting me, right?"

"This is all healthy stuff. Your arteries will thank me," Benny said piously, taking a carrot and crunching on it.

"My foot will kick your ass if you don't break out the real snacks."

"Fine. I was going to offer juice or water, but I suppose you want a beer, as well."

"Damn straight. And none of that imported or micro-brewery swill you favor, either."

They watched the Jets quarterback get sacked twice in the first half and railed at the defense. After the Jets fumbled the ball a third time and Roger figured that even his lucky cap wouldn't save the game, he started commenting on the players' butts, which Benny thought was wrong in more ways than he could count.

"Roger, for the love of God, please stop trying to bond with me. You're creeping me out."

"I thought maybe Matt would be here," Roger said during half time, crunching on a celery stick dipped in peanut butter.

"Stop eating my snacks, man. You've got your own."

"No, this is surprisingly tasty and I'm not even pregnant, I don't think. So. Matt?"

Benny shrugged. "He's not into football."

"I see."

Roger could load a lot of meaning onto one of his I-see's and it always drove Benny crazy. He lasted through two commercials.

"What do you see, Roger?"

"You guys looked like you were into each other at the wedding. Then, you brought me back the DVD he'd abducted, which means you saw each other after that happy occasion. Now I ask you a simple question, and a natural one, given that the guy lives about five blocks away and one could assume that maybe you hang out together sometimes, and you get all tense and evasive."

"I do not get all tense and evasive."

"I see."

"Oh, fuck you, Roger."

Roger tried a carrot with peanut butter and hummed in appreciation. "I have to tell Carrie about these."

"I'm sure she already knows."

"So, why are you tense and evasive when I ask you about Matt?"

Benny sighed.

"I don't know. He's okay, I guess. It's just that we don't have a hell of a lot in common. Plus he's a lot younger."

"A lot younger? Benny, he's what, seven years younger than you?"

"He doesn't like football or baseball," Benny said defensively. "And he doesn't like Mel Brooks."

"I see."

"What? What the hell do you see?"

Roger unexpectedly turned the TV off and turned to face Benny, his face serious.

"Benny. You know I don't like coming at my friends from my professional capacity, especially when they clearly don't want me to do so, but I can't just sit and watch this train wreck any more."

Benny's fists clenched. "What train wreck? What are you talking about?"

"Phil hated Mel Brooks."

"That's because he only saw 'Men in Tights' and 'Space Balls'. Honestly–"

"Benny!" Roger thundered, interrupting him, and Benny gaped. Except when watching football or baseball, Roger raised his voice in anger about once a decade. "The point isn't why he hated Mel Brooks. The point is that he did. Just like you hate opera and the Nutcracker. And yet, you have tickets again this season, don't you?"

Benny swallowed, then slowly nodded.

"You have to move on, Benny. You have to let Phil go, and move on."

"I have," Benny whispered, because it was hard to talk louder around the lump in his throat. He stared at the blank TV screen. "We're missing the game."

"Tell me that Matt bores you, Benny. Tell me that you don't like his looks, or that he's no good in the sack, but do not fucking tell me that he doesn't like football or Mel Brooks."

Benny bit his lip. He couldn't tell Roger what he wanted to hear, because the few times he'd been with Matt, beautiful Matt, time had flown, and the sex had been incredible, better than what he remembered with anybody else, even Phil, and that just couldn't be right.

"Listen, Roger, I know you mean well. But you're way off base here."

"Did you ever even cry for Phil, Benny?"

"Not everybody does, you know. What a fucking cliché."

"Have you spoken to Liz since the funeral?"

"Of course I have. I love Liz."

"I don't mean exchanging birthday calls and Christmas visits. Have you talked to her about Phil, remembered him with her?"

"What do you want from me? Everybody grieves differently, you say that yourself. Anyway, I got over Phil's death years ago."

"No, Benny, you got an ulcer. That's what you got."

"Fuck you."

"Stop trying to live up to what your father thought a man is. There are no prizes for repressing your emotions, for pretending to be fine when you're not, for not acknowledging pain and loss or not sharing it with your friends. Even Will Kane needed somebody to stand by him and share the burden."

"I think we can say pretty conclusively that I did not try to live up to what Dad thought a man is," Benny retorted.

"No, and since you couldn't help that part, you overcompensate in every other way."

"Why are we even discussing this now? We're supposed to be watching the game. What happened, did Matt say something to you?"

"Why, was there something for him to say?"

"No," Benny muttered.

Roger leaned over and grasped Benny's knee.

"Phil's gone, Benny. He's been gone a long time. It's okay if you forget some details about him, or if you start to have feelings about someone else. You're not hurting him or being disloyal by doing so."

Benny's eyes were starting to burn, and his jaw was aching. He shook his head stubbornly, staring down at Roger's hand.

"I should have said something a long time ago, but in a way it didn't matter. It does now, though."

"Why? Why now?"

"Partly because of the ulcer. And partly because... Well, because I never liked Jordan, not for you, but I saw how you looked at him all those years ago. And I saw how you looked at Phil, even when the two of you were in the middle of a fight about something, and I knew that the moment I was gone, you'd start arguing again."

"Yeah, so?" Benny asked thickly, when Roger didn't continue.

Roger squeezed his knee. "You look at Matt the same way, Benny. Don't you realize that?"

"You're wrong."

"No."

"You've never seen us together."

"I saw you at the rehearsal dinner, once you got too drunk to keep your guard up. We took you upstairs, and I was trying to joke with you, but you were totally focused on him; it was like you didn't even know I was there. I saw you the next morning, over breakfast. I saw your face when you were dancing with him."

"Lust," Benny conceded. "That's all, pure and simple. I don't even know him."

"Okay," Roger said, but he didn't look convinced. "So get to know him. Give him a chance. Give yourself a chance."

Benny shut his eyes. His heart was racing, and for a while he thought it was because he was angry at Roger; then he realized that he was afraid, though of what exactly he couldn't say.

"Can we watch the game now?"

Roger leaned back and picked up the remote control. "Fine," he sighed. "Let's watch the goddamned game."