Tales of the City 07 - Michael Tolliver Lives

that Irwin never calls just to chat.
    “Pick up,” he said. “I can handle this.”
    I headed for the living room and settled on the sofa, giving a final holler to Ben in the kitchen—“A full half-cup of syrup, please, sir”—before opening the phone and greeting my brother as nonchalantly as possible. “How’s it goin’, Irwin?”
    That seemed to be a tough question.
    “Is it Mama?”
    “Oh…no, she’s fine. I mean, not fine but…you know…”
    “Sure.” I was growing more and more uncomfortable. I was pretty sure I was about to catch holy hell for the change in the power of attorney.
    But Irwin sounded oddly subdued. “Listen, Mikey. I’m headin’ out your way in a few days. I thought we could have lunch or something.”
    “Sure,” I said, now completely confused. “What’s up?”
    “Oh…you know…just a conference in San Jose.”
    “What sort of conference?”
    “Uh…Promise Keepers.”
    That’s the big Christian men’s powwow. They gather in stadiums and bond over Jesus and promise to love their families and “lead” their wives. Lenore has not been led anywhere for years, but guys like my brother are so starved for male-to-male intimacy that they have to grab it wherever they find it. I could hardly give him shit about it.
    “Why don’t you come for dinner?” I said. “We’ve got a great new recipe for brussels sprouts.”
    Ben hooted from the kitchen.
    “You know,” said Irwin, “I mean no disrespect to Ben, but…this is more…brother to brother.”
    What the fuck was he getting at?
    “Okay,” I said evenly. “We can get a bite somewhere. The two of us.”
    “Could you come to the hotel?”
    “In San Jose?”
    “I’ll be out at the airport, actually.”
    “Jesus, Irwin, that’s bleak. At least come into town.”
    There was silence, so I figured I’d upset him with the J-word. “Sorry. I just meant there’s better places to eat if—”
    “I don’t care about the food, Mikey! I just want to get together!”
    “Okay. Fine. Whatever.” I was surprised by the anguish in his voice. “Can you tell me what this is about?”
    “No…not on the phone.”
    “Will Lenore be with you?”
    “No.”
    “Well…call me when you get in.”
    “I will, bro.” His tone was softer now. “Thanks for this, you hear?”

    Thanks for what was the burning question.
    I have a gardener friend up in Sebastopol who likes to tell people that he has a mind like a steel trap—sometimes he has to gnaw his leg off to get away from it.
    That’s me to a T. Once I start fretting about something, there’s no escaping its viselike grip. It pops up on the treadmill at the gym. Or during sex. Or in the middle of a pleasant dinner at home when you should be concentrating on the food.
    “They’re actually pretty good,” said Ben.
    I drew a blank. “Uh…sorry…what?”
    “The brussels sprouts.”
    “Oh…yeah…it works, doesn’t it?”
    Ben set his fork down and regarded me with a gentle, knowing smile. “I wouldn’t worry about it, babe. Maybe he just wants some time with you.”
    “He’s never wanted time with me.”
    “What about when you were molesting alligators?”
    “That was the last time, believe me. He just needed an accomplice.”
    Ben took a sip of his wine. “Maybe he wants to come out of the closet.”
    I rolled my eyes at this deliberate mischief. “How did I know you would say that?”
    A wicked chuckle.
    “Trust me,” I told him. “That ain’t it. And if it were, he wouldn’t be doing it during a Promise Keepers convention.”
    “I know.”
    I smirked at him. “You and your Suit Daddies.”
    “You think he had a fight with Lenore?”
    I shrugged. “It’s possible.”
    “Maybe he just got sick of the puppets.”
    I smiled.
    “ Or he wants your advice about the gay grandson.”
    “Right. Like that would happen.”
    “So…it has to be about the power of attorney.”
    “But why wouldn’t he say that on the phone?”
    Ben shrugged. “Beats me.”
    “He obviously wants privacy. He’s traveling without Lenore and he didn’t even want you there.”
    “Maybe he’s having an affair.”
    I considered that for a moment. “And wants to tell his gay brother?”
    “Why not? People usually wanna tell somebody… and he knows you won’t haul out the hellfire and brimstone.”
    “I might.”
    “No you won’t. You’re kind. That’s why I’m with you, baby…and that’s why he wants to talk to you, whatever it is.”
    I wasn’t so sure