Jamie Brodie 02 - Hoarded to Death

seconds. "YES!! Knew you'd do right thing. THANK YOU."
    It struck me then just how unfair it would have been to Kevin and Abby to move back in with them. They'd gotten used to their privacy. They'd have to adjust to a smaller apartment, but I figured that wouldn't be a problem. Kevin hadn't said anything, but clearly he'd been hoping that I'd grow up and move out.
    What had I been thinking?
    Pete said, "What did Kevin say?"
    "He said thank you."
    Pete huffed a soft laugh. "It'll be easier for them, too, you know."
    "I know. Like I said before, I really don't know what's wrong with me."
    He shrugged. "You said it. You were afraid. Fear changes the chemical transmission in our brains. We don't think logically, we just run from whatever is causing the fear."
    I lay down, turned on my side to face him and put my hand on his shoulder. "I'm going to try to be the best boyfriend ever. I don't want you to ever be sorry that you talked me into this."
    He smiled. "Ditto, baby. Ditto." We kissed for a minute, then Pete pulled back. “You in the mood to celebrate?”
    I was.

    Another week went by, with no news from Belardo. One night at supper Pete said, "We've been invited to a dinner party by the co-chair of my department."
    Pete was up for tenure this year. I figured that when the co-chair called, we had to go. "Who is it?"
    "His name's Elliott Conklin. He teaches social psychology. He's gay, and he's getting the SMC gay crowd together for this dinner. Someone said he's got a new boyfriend to show off. Apparently he broke up with his longtime partner a few months ago, and now he's got a younger guy."
    "Is Elliott an older guy?"
    "He's older than us. Probably in his late forties."
    "And how young is this younger guy?"
    "From what I understand, he's in his early 20s."
    I groaned. "Is he an actor wannabe?"
    Pete laughed. "I don't know the particulars, but I'm betting yes. At least we know he's not one of our students."
    I sighed. "Sure, we'll go. It's the politically correct thing to do for you right now, right?"
    "Yeah, I guess. Under normal circumstances I'd think about finding an excuse to not go, but Elliott's the co-chair, and he’s on our departmental tenure committee, so..."
    I held up my hand. "Say no more. I'm willing to sacrifice for your career."
    Pete grinned. "Good to know."
    The dinner party was a week and a half later. That evening, I looked in the closet. "What am I supposed to wear to this party? I don’t have any party clothes."
    "Wear what you'd wear to work. Dockers and a dress shirt are fine."
    "Will we be the most casually dressed there?"
    "Probably not. I'll bet there will be a couple of guys there in jeans. Of course there will be a couple dressed like Kurt from Glee too..."
    Elliott lived in Venice, in an old warehouse building that had been converted to lofts . We arrived about ten minutes late because we'd been looking for a parking space. When we got to the door, I whispered, "Any last minute instructions?"
    "Nah. Just be yourself. And don't let anyone hit on you."
    I looked at him in horror, but didn't get a chance to respond to that as the door opened. The man standing there was indeed in his late forties, with dark hair that had a few threads of gray and a goatee that looked like it might have met a box of Just for Men. He was dressed in an open-neck silk shirt, a linen sport coat, and lightweight slacks. His shoes were very shiny.
    "Pete! So glad you could come. And this must be Jamie." He held out his hand. "Elliott Conklin. I'm delighted to finally meet you."
    "My pleasure." I shook his hand; his handshake wasn't the firmest I'd ever encountered, but it wasn't too wishy washy either.
    "Come in, come in. We're all upstairs. We’re just waiting for a couple more people, then we'll get seated for dinner." He waved us in and we climbed a set of metal stairs to the second floor. The space was big, high-ceilinged and industrial, with strategically placed groupings of seats and lamps. A large wall constructed of bookshelves partially concealed the bedroom from the rest of the space. A kitchen was on the far wall, and seemed to be under the control of a group of caterers. A huge dining table was set up between the entryway and the kitchen. There were a couple of knots of guests milling around.
    Elliott led us over to one of the groups.
    I scanned the room. Pete and I were nearly the most casually dressed people there, but there were a couple of guys in jeans. We were among the younger guests, if