Ethan Allen University, VT—December 5
Professor Leland Hansen sat in his office shuffling papers. He had difficulty settling down and had been in a foul mood ever since he arrived home from the conference. The train leaving Albany had been late and almost every seat occupied and packed with holiday shoppers. How he hated the holidays.
The conference had been a bust, and he’d felt guilty taking time away from his doctoral students to hear a bunch of liberal educators push touchy-feely strategies—ones they’d already tried at Ethan Allen U; they hadn’t worked then and wouldn’t work now.
In one of the conference sessions, Leland had laughed out loud when someone suggested student brown bag lunches with faculty. EAU students mostly ate alone or in small groups. There was a definite line between students and faculty that was rarely, if ever, crossed and he liked it that way, thank you very much.
In Leland’s opinion the doctoral program was sink or swim; it was Darwinism in action. Not everyone was cut out for the four-year commitment and that’s the way it should be.
Lyrics to a melancholy song rushed back to him, one about train trips, lost loves, winding streams, moonlight, and cars parked under stars. He pushed himself up and walked over to the window. Everything about winter and the holidays reminded him of Cliff.
At just over six feet, Cliff was tall and lanky with an easy smile and an optimistic attitude. Leland closed his eyes and there he was: Cliff leaning against a tree trunk with a book in his hand, gazing off, lost in thought. At five-nine and carrying a bit of extra weight around the middle, Leland couldn’t believe his luck in landing Cliff.
He broke from his reverie and went back to his desk and the conference paper he’d been skimming; it slipped from his hands and fell to the floor. Leland bent down to retrieve it but changed his mind. Did he really want to read a tedious study on the effects of stress reduction on student completion rates?
He would erase the conference from memory. If only I could erase Cliff as easily
Cliff had pressured him to commit to their relationship, to live together in a nearby town midway between EAU and Glens Falls where Cliff worked in sales. But Leland had been too concerned—perhaps overly so—about retaliation and loss of his assistant professorship at the conservative Catholic college. They’d find a way to let him go. Citing church doctrine seemed to be the usual approach to justify anything out of the norm and he couldn’t risk it. What a damned fool he’d been. He lost the one true love of his life. There would never be another Cliff.
* * * *
Chicago—December 5
Cliff Emerson rolled over in bed. He ran his hand along Ray’s spine, gently, slowly. He couldn’t believe he’d finally found his soul mate; he thought once it was Lee, but it hadn’t been, or at least hadn’t turned out the way they’d planned.
Now he had Ray and he wasn’t about to let go of this perfect specimen of African-American male—handsome and photogenic and, like Norma Desmond, ready for his close-up. “You asleep, hon?”
“Mmm. I was.” He had that half-asleep, half-awake look Cliff loved. It was that quiet time of morning when Ray was pliable and affectionate like a preschooler waking from an afternoon nap.
Ray yawned and draped an arm across Cliff’s naked shoulder.
“Was that the clock?” Cliff said.
“Not that I heard. I was asleep, remember?” Ray leaned in and tried to kiss him on the lips
“Not now,” Cliff exclaimed. “I’ve got rotten morning breath.”
“Don’t care. Coming in anyway.” Ray drew closer, his lips an inch or so from his lover’s, but then Cliff abruptly turned his head and they missed their mark. Obviously annoyed, Ray slid back over to hisside of the bed then pulled the blankets up over his head.
“Now you’re mad at me.”
“I am not,” Ray said, a bit more emphatically than he probably meant.
“Good. Let’s catch a few more minutes, okay?”
“Whatever you want.”
“See, you are.” Cliff sighed heavily and sat up on his elbow. Gently he uncovered Ray’s face. “I thought you said you weren’t mad.” He slipped a hand under Ray’s head, pulled him close, and then kissed him full on the lips.
“Jesus! You weren’t kidding.”
“Told you.”
Ray pushed himself up and out of bed then headed for the bathroom.
Later when Cliff walked into the kitchen, he found Ray sitting at the dinette, scanning the newspaper while sipping a mug of freshly brewed coffee. “I left a cup out for you,” he said, looking up then back at the entertainment section. “Are you really going to wear that tie?”
“Why?”
“It’s loud. Doesn’t go with that sports jacket. Lavender clashes with brown.”
“So says the purveyor of fine gentlemen’s wear.”
“So sayeth. If it were up to me, I’d lose it,” Ray said. “But go ahead if you want to ruin the ensemble.”
“Thank you.” Cliff poured a cup of coffee, sat down across from his soul mate
“The review of the Albee revival is pretty good,” Ray said. “Want to go?”
“If it’s the one I read last night online, we’d better skip it.”
“Why? The local critic gave it four stars out of five. Said he liked the two minor characters—”
“He also said they abruptly disappeared and he spent the rest of the play wishing they’d return. Doesn’t sound like a sound recommendation to me.”
“Well, yes,” Ray said. “It isn’t overly enthusiastic, I admit, but it might be fun.”
Cliff shook his head. “Albee fun? I doubt it. Don’t think he has a funny bone anywhere.”
“Let’s do it,” Ray said. “Come on. Where’s that risk-taking side of you I love?”
“I don’t have a risk taking side,” Cliff countered. “In fact, I hate taking risks.”
There was a pause.
