When Love Takes Over Ch. 07

It took us a couple of days to fix up the shed. But the weather was in our favor; for February, it was very warm. In fact, Chance was soon sweating and removed his shirt.

"Wow," I said involuntarily. "You must work out. A lot."

"I do. I set up a weight room in one of the sheds."

I looked from his ripped body and down at my own less than Adonis-like figure. "Hmm. Maybe I should do that. I think my old weight bench is somewhere in Dad's shop."

"I'll be happy to help. Glad to give you some pointers."

After the shed was finished, we started clearing out the extra furniture, making sure to wrap it securely. I know I didn't want to have to explain to Miss Pauline why her antique bed was scratched or how moths got into her wool rugs. Everything, including building the ramp went smoothly until we came to removing the carpet.

The carpet and pad came up easily enough, and the floor underneath was the same poured epoxy floor as in the rest of the house. In fact, most houses built in our area during that period had a similar floor. And it was in good shape; however, removing the carpet revealed the giant loops of glue that the installers had used. Removing those glue marks was a bitch. After some internet research and a call to my favorite installer in New Orleans, we finally found an industrial solvent that would work, but the fumes were unholy. Luckily, I found a couple of respirator masks in my father's stock of tools, but after we finished the house still reeked.

I insisted that Chance spend the next couple of days with me while the house aired out. He helped me unearth my high school weight bench and the weights and showed me a basic workout. He also helped me find someone to auction off the tools, equipment, and old vehicles.

With the work at his place finished, he spent the next couple of days helping me trim bushes and trees and clean up the overgrown vegetation. And at night, he cooked up more fantastic meals. I still didn't have much furniture, including a tv, so after dinner, we piled on my bed to watch Netflix on my laptop. Even though I didn't think of Chance as anything other than a friend, I have to admit, I did get a charge from sitting so close to such an attractive man, and when we occasionally brushed up next to each other, I may have chubbed up just a bit.

Not long after the smell of the solvent cleared, it was time for Chance to go pick up his mother to bring her home. Very soon after she had gotten back and settled, she insisted that Chance have me over to dinner to thank me for the help I had given.

I was relieved to see that, while still obviously in discomfort, she was in generally good shape and good spirits. She was as alert as ever, carefully dressed and with her thick hair its usual unnatural black. Once at church, one of the "old biddies" had asked, "Pauline when are you going to stop dying your hair black?" Miss Pauline had replied, "When I'm too feeble to lift the bottle over my head."

"Chance told me how much you helped getting the house ready for this darn fool thing," she said indicating the wheelchair.

"It was no trouble, ma'am."

"It's such a shame about your dad. How's your stepmother doing?"

"Okay, I guess. I haven't really talked to her lately."

"You should check on her," she said, making it clear that this was an order and not a suggestion.

"Yes, ma'am."

Chance had made another one of his amazing meals, this one a roast with all the trimmings and homemade biscuits. He had left the dining room to go whip the cream for dessert, a peach cobbler.

"This is so good," I said, sopping up the last of the gravy with a biscuit. "He is talented."

"I know," she said, with a pleased look. "He's very special. I've always been so proud of him. I know he thinks highly of you, too."

I must have given her an inquiring look, because she continued, "In the last month or so, everytime he came to visit me in the hospital or called, he's talked about you and how talented you are. He used to do that in high school, too. I remember when you painted the sets for his senior play, he went on and on about them."

"Really? I had no idea."

"Well," she said, "now you do."

I continued to go to church with Chance and, now, Miss Pauline on Sundays, always coming back to their house for lunch. I substituted for the pianist now and then for choir practice, and even played for a function at the high school after one of my old teachers asked for help. I continued working on the house, finally finishing painting what seemed like miles of paneling. And after the successful auction of father's tools and equipment, I decided to splurge on installing wood flooring and redoing the master bath.

With Chance's help, we installed the wood floors. It was tedious, but not really difficult. Applying the perfect stain, a mix of Jacobean and ebony was the hardest part, and after finally completing the last room, we both vowed never to do that again.

I also decided to redo the master bath. I was okay with the Nile green and white tile in the hall bath, especially after painting the vanity and the floor white. Luckily the fixtures were also white. I had a new countertop installed, white Corian to replace the original faded and scratched Formica. Those small changes were enough to make the room feel new, but the master bath was a different story.

In the master bath, the wall tile was pink. And not just any pink, a particularly ugly pink. There wasn't a tub in there, just a small walk in shower. I had the wall tile replaced with plain white subway tile, but took it all the way to the ceiling instead of ¾ up the wall like the original tile. On the wall facing the door where the sink was, I removed all of the tile and had the entire wall mirrored. And for the vanity, I removed the existing built in, and decided to use an industrial metal and wood cart with a white porcelain vessel sink. I painted the floor white and painted the ceiling the same robin's egg blue as the adjoining bedroom.

It was time to get the furniture and things I needed from New Orleans. It would be the first time I talked to Reed since the funeral, and I wasn't sure if I wanted or didn't want him to renew his declaration of love. What I did know was that I was being a coward by not calling him, and I didn't like that feeling.

He seemed surprised by my call, but happy to hear from me. After a bit of chatting and catching up, we agreed on a convenient date for me to come pick up the furniture and things I wanted.. He had the things at a warehouse in the Bywater that we had used to store building supplies, furniture, etc. for our projects. I decided to drive in on a Friday, we would meet on Saturday so I could sort out what to take, and then i would load up Uhaul trailer and leave on Sunday morning. "I look forward to seeing you again," he said.

I called Ben to let him know I was coming into town. And he insisted that I stay with he and John. "You're not getting a hotel, and that's final," he said to my protests. "It will be fun to have you stay here. We can stay up all night talking about boys and braiding our hair."

When I mentioned my upcoming trip to Chance and Miss Pauline at lunch on Sunday, she said almost immediately, "Chance, why don't you go and keep Brandon company on that long drive? And he might need some helping loading things."

"I'd love for you to go if you'd like to. I'm staying with some friends, and they're a lot of fun," I said.

"I don't know. I hate to leave you alone," he said to his mother.

"Nonsense, I won't be alone. I'll have Luann," she said, referring to the lady who provided her home health care. "I'm sure she can stay all weekend."

"I don't know," Chance said, still uncertain. "I'll think about it." He got up, taking the dirty dishes to the kitchen.

"Please, please convince him to go," Miss Pauline said urgently, putting a frail hand on my arm. "I need a break. He's driving me up the wall. Ever since I got home from the hospital, he's been like a mother hen, and it's making me crazier than a betsy bug."

It took some effort, but in the end, we managed to convince him to come. I called Ben to make sure bringing another guest was okay. "Sure. I'm happy you're bringing a man with you, " Ben said.

"He's just a friend."

"A man friend," Ben purred, emphasizing "man."

"Behave," I said.

Ben and John had plans to see a show on the Friday we arrived in New Orleans, so after dinner at their house, the four of us headed to the French Quarter. They went on to the House of Blues, and we hit the area of gay bars called the fruit loop. After we had gone to Lafitte's and Good Friends, Chance wanted to go to the Hardy Hole.

"I haven't been there since Fleet Week about 10 years ago."

"I don't know," I said, thinking about Charlie and Fred? Frank? I never could remember his name. I wasn't sure I was up to running into either one, or Heaven forbid, both of them.

"Come on, it'll be fun," he urged. Again I hesitated. "What's the deal? Why don't you want to go? I remember you telling me it was your favorite bar," he said.

My mouth loosened by one too many beers, I let the bean spills. "Right before I left, I had a drunken threeway with the owner and another guy, and I'm afraid I'll run into them."

He looked at me for a long second, then starting laughing. "You do get around," he said. "Come on, let's go. I'm sure you're not going to be the only survivor of a threeway in there. In fact," he said, looking smug, "I can guarantee it.

I was so distracted by contemplating Chance in a threesome that I allowed myself to be dragged through the Quarter. Oh well, chances were good that I was going to end up at the Hardy Hole eventually, so I might as well get my first visit back over with.

As I had feared, Charlie was there. In fact, he was working the door, checking I.D.s. If he were suffering any embarrassment, though, he didn't show it. In fact the first thing he did when I showed up was to envelop me in a crushing bear hug.

"Brandon," he said, finally releasing me. "It's good to see you. Frank told me about your dad. Sorry to hear about him."

"Thanks. This is my friend Brandon. He's from Terry, too."

"Good to meet you," Charlie said, shaking hands with Chance while giving him an approving appraisal. "Go have fun." To me he said, "I'm glad you have someone looking out for you."

As we walked inside, Chance leaned over and whispered, "Is that the owner? From the threesome?"

"Yes."

"Well, I have to give you credit for good taste."

"Thanks," I said, pushing through the crowd to get to the bar. Before I could reach my destination, I felt myself being seized again by a pair of burly arms and being hugged. Though hug doesn't adequately describe the crushing embrace that was foisted upon me; then I felt myself actually being lifted..

"BRANDON!!" a voice squealed over the din of people and the loud music. Great, I thought, here's Frank.

"Put me down," I said as loudly as possible considering I was being held so tightly I could barely breathe.

"Sorry," he said, finally lowering me. "I'm just so excited to see you," Frank said, a hug smile splitting his beard. "I didn't know you were back."

"Just for the weekend. Frank," I said, turning, "This is my friend Chance. Chance, this is Frank."

"Hi," Frank said, his eyes brightening as he took in Chance. "Are y'all dating?"

"We're just friends," I said. "It's good to see you..." I started the brush off, but stopped when we face feel as he realized what I was doing, and I had to stop. Blowing Frank off would be like kicking a puppy. "Do you want to hang with us for a bit?" I shot a glance at Chance hoping he wouldn't mind, but the bastard, so far from minding had a smirk on his face as he enjoyed my discomfort. Asshole.

"Sure," he said happily, the sunny smile returned to his face.

Relieved to have a reason to break away, I returned to my mission to get beer. It took a while to maneuver through the crowd to the bar and even longer to get the beleaguered bartender's attention. Certainly enough time for Frank and Chance to get acquainted. They were settled tightly into a corner, laughing at something, and Frank was making sure he kept his hand on Chance's arm.

"I got you a beer," I snarled, thrusting the icy bottle at Frank. "What's so funny?" I asked, handing Chance his own beer.

"Ryan...I mean Brian...I mean Fred...over here was telling me how you forgot his name," he said barely managing to get the sentence out before breaking up into laughter. Frank, too, was chortling away like he had just heard the world's funniest joke.

"Great," I said sourly. "Just great."

"Oh, don't be that way," said Frank, stepping over and gathering me into a side hug. "It actually was pretty funny. You looked like a deer caught in headlights."

Considering that the guy whose name I had forgotten after an epic threeway was able to consider my slip funny, I guess it would be an asshole move to not have a sense of humor about it.

"I guess it was."

After the initial awkwardness, I ended up having a pretty good time. Frank was a really nice guy, and a very cute one. And there is nothing like having a cute younger guy broadly hinting that he was ready to have another threeway with you to make you feel good. I, however, was sober enough to say no this time, and to my relief, Chance didn't seem to take Frank seriously at all. Sometime after midnight, Chance and I headed back to Ben's place. Alone.

The next day, we had a late brunch with Ben and Jon who both laughed uproariously at Chance's version of our night with Frank. I managed a weak smile. Honestly, I was so nervous about my upcoming meeting with Reed that I didn't care what we talked about. Chance had offered to go with me, but I felt a bit weird involving him, so I told I preferred to handle it alone and sent him off to the French Market with the list of items Miss Pauline wanted. Time seemed to be flying, and before I was ready, I was on Chartres driving to the warehouse.

I had taken some pains with my appearance that day, trimming my beard and putting a bit of product in my hair which was now long enough to pull into a ponytail. I had started walking through the trees on my property after I had mowed the trail that rang along the perimeter of the woods, and the walking combined with Chance's workout was starting to have an effect. He had also helped me eat better, and my belly had shrunk. In fact, when I went to buy some new jeans for this weekend, I pleasantly surprised by how easily I fit into my old size. With the new dark jeans and a similarly hued navy sweater, I actually looked pretty good. At least I hope I did.

Reed looked fantastic, as usual. He had regained whatever weight he had lost since the breakup and looked lean, fit, and healthy. His dark hair was beautifully styled and gleamed with a dark luster. The white sweater showed off a complexion that was smoothly tanned even this early in the spring.

Reed had asked a couple of guys from one of his worksites to come over and help. Since the boxes had been thoughtfully packed and labeled, it didn't take too long for me to sift through the contents and find the things I wanted. We placed them to the side, returning the unwanted items to storage, and made the arrangements to meet in the morning at 9.

When we walked outside, I realized it was later than I had originally thought.

"Let's get something to eat, " he suggested. "Unless you have plans."

"Actually, I don't. But isn't it a little early for dinner?"

"Maybe, but we can get some drinks and have time to talk."

It sounded tempting. Life in the country was peaceful and serene, but I missed some aspects of city life like happy hour in a swanky bar.

"Okay. But I should let Chance know and see if he wants to join us."

"Chance?"

"He's a friend from home. He came to keep me company on the ride."

"Oh," he said. "Please see if he wants to join us."

"Chance," I said once he answered his phone. "Reed wants to go to dinner. You up for it?"

"You go. I'm a bit tired. Not used to staying up so late. I think I'll grab something quick and go to bed early tonight."

"Are you sure?" I asked. He did sound tired and a bit down.

"Yes, I'm sure. Go have fun." I texted Ben to let him know what was up.

Reed followed me to Ben's house. He wanted to eat at Tommy's in the CBD, and I didn't want to drive my truck and try to find parking on a Saturday night. It felt very familiar as I settled into the black Mercedes next to Reed. Driving out to eat on a Saturday night, Reed's favorite music, jazz, playing on the radio.

Conversation on the drive was casual. Mostly about the Degas project.

"Do you want to see it?" he asked. We had just made it to the quarter.

"Sure."

He drove to the residential part of Dauphine St. A row of three cottages linked by a high wall and all painted the same faded tan sat beside the street. He unlocked a dark green wooden gate that was framed by an arch covered in jasmine and led the way down a passageway created by high brick walls. I emerged from underneath another vine-covered archway and emerged into an enchanted place.

The complex consisted of 6 separate cottages of varying size, each with their own private courtyard made of aged brick walls. More aged brick paved them, with raised bed around them containing lush, overgrown greenery. In the center was a large central courtyard that contained a small, but beautifully proportioned pool. To the left of the pool was another brick structure, a sort of pool house. The place was still in disrepair--Reed's team was still in the demo stage, and the buildings had clearly been the victims of long term neglect, but it was still beautiful. And so quiet, I could hardly believe I was still in the French Quarter.

In the fading light, he showed me what he could of the cottages, detailing his plans. I have to be honest; I wasn't exactly thrilled with what he told me the designer he was working with had planned, but since I had chosen to be a silent partner, I held my tongue.

"This place is amazing," I said, as we stepped out of the passage and back onto Dauphine St.

"I know," he said. "Sometimes I have to pinch myself to realize that this is my project. The only thing missing is you working on it."

He must have seen the look of distress that crossed my face. "Sorry," he said. "No more of that. Let's just enjoy tonight."

He parked in the garage for his condo, which wasn't a far walk to the restaurant.

"Since it's a bit early, do you want to come up for a drink before we head out?"

"Sure," I said. I have to admit that I was morbidly curious to see his bachelor pad. The one he had picked out with John.

The condo was in a converted factory. We passed through and entrance with exposed brick walls and polished concrete floors. Tasteful, neutral, and expensive looking art hung on the walls, and modern lanterns hung from the ceilings. His condo was on the second floor.

It was fantastic, of course. More exposed brick and polished concrete floors. A wall of windows exposed his own small, but private courtyard. Past the entrance, stairs rose to the right to the bedrooms. And open kitchen was to the left. I had never been here, but it felt familiar.

I looked at one of the plastered walls. I knew that paint color. "Is that Oyster Bay?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

Oyster Bay was a beautiful blue/green/gray. I had used it throughout most of our first home together. I looked around startled at how familiar it seemed. In the dining area was a large round table in natural maple, It was bigger than my grandmother's, but except for size, it was a twin. It was surrounded by Parsons chairs slipcovered in natural linen as had my grandmother's table been when it was in our first dining room.