Stan Gets a Call
It was one of those nights that you find in cheap mystery novels, or less cheaply, in Agatha Christie novels: rain, wind, dark, cold. It was awful. I parked the car in the drive and ran to the house, buffeted by the wind. I had just finished a parents evening at my school in Coventry and drove through masses of rain, wondering if Shrewley would be under water when I got there.
But our house was in one piece and no trees had come down in the blasting winds. When I opened the door, Lucy was standing there staring at me as if wondering why the hell I was outside in this weather. I agreed with her. Cats are so sensible. I shrugged my coat onto the floor and stepped out of my shoes. My whole body felt wet.
I stumbled upstairs and started the bath running. I wished for the thousandth time that Sergio was there. I wanted his warmth and his solidity. But no, he was in Australia for some medical conference that he was obligated to attend by the university, but I still resented it. I hate sleeping alone. I don't do well alone at all. Lucy was a help, but cats aren't very good conversationalists.
I made some toast and Marmite and brought it to the bath with a large shot of whiskey. With Sergio away, I fell into old habits, Marmite being one of them. I knew it was bad for me, but I had grown up with the stuff. I needed comfort.
Laying in bubbles, sipping my drink, enjoying the salty toast, I yearned for Sergio. He wouldn't be back for another week. I had put him on a plane on Wednesday night and it was only Friday. I knew he wanted to spend time with some Arenas cousins – including the one whose marriage we were at when Sergio and I changed our long friendship into what became a marriage. I lay back in the hot, soapy water and remembered those days in Vanuatu: him kissing me the first time, him sucking my cock the first time, then the night we spent in my bed, the first night we ever slept together. It still felt impossible and amazing that it had happened, that this man who I had known since we were young had now become my husband.
Finishing my toast, I pulled myself from the tub and wrapped several towels around me. I was learning our house was always a little chilly in the winter and I grumbled, wondering if we could afford to get our heating updated. Just as I got out of the bathroom, I heard my phone buzz in the bedroom. I wondered if it was Sergio checking in, so I ran to the bed where I had flung it. To my surprise, it was James.
“James! How nice to hear from you! What's up?”
There was a pause, then I could hear that he was crying. “Are you at home?”
Confused, I sat on the bed. “Yeah...where are you?”
“I'm in a pub in Shrewley.”
Now I was worried. “What the hell? Why are you there?”
“Can I come over?”
Adjusting the phone on my ear, I tried to think of why he had driven all the way from Manchester in such awful weather.
“Uh...sure. Come on over. You remember where the lane is? Just past the big fuck-off house by the bridge?”
There was a moment and I heard him sniffle. He said, “Yeah, thanks. See you soon.”
I put the phone down and Lucy jumped on the bed, purring. She rubbed her head on my arm and I idly ran my hand down her back, her tail curling, her back arching. I tried to understand why James had driven such a long way to see us.
I slipped into some jeans and put on a big Scottish sweater, trying to find some warmth. I went downstairs, poured more whiskey and lit a big fire. Just as the flames caught, there was a knock at the door.
He looked completely terrible: tired and pale. He mumbled, “Hi...” before throwing himself into my arms and sobbing.
“James...what's going on?”
He stepped back and said, “Sorry...sorry...I'm a mess, I know. I didn't know what else to do...”
“Come in. I'll get you a drink.”
He handed me his jacket and kicked his shoes off. I had forgotten how tall he was, how curly his hair was, how much like Sandor he was. But not. While Sandor resembles him physically, James is quiet and elegant and his energy is very subdued.
I handed him a glass of whiskey and he sat on the sofa. I slid in beside him and we didn't say anything for a moment, just watching the fire which seemed the most cheerful thing in the room.
I turned to him, wondering why he was being so quiet. “James...what's going on?”
He turned to me, his eyes filling. “Bruno...he broke up with me...”
If I wasn't confused before, I was completely mystified then. “Are you serious?” I was suddenly angry. “What on earth, James?” I realized I was angry at Bruno for not telling me first. There had to be more to this story than that.
James gave a shuddering sigh. “Well, it's not just that...he's not well, Stan. He's...I think he's using drugs or he's got some mental illness, or something. He was acting really strangely and now he's depressed...” He started to cry again.
Putting my arm around his shoulders, I thought for a moment. I put my glass on the table in front of us. “He's always been a bit moody...”
James snorted and not because he was amused. “No, Stan. He's been all over the place. Really happy for a while...a little erratic, taking risks. Now he's barely been out of bed for a week or so. It's getting worse. And today he told me he was breaking up with me...he tried to make it sound all rational but I knew he was trying to protect me...I was supposed to stay there for the weekend...but he told me to go.” His eyes filled with tears again.
Understanding finally became clearer. Bruno was in trouble. Sergio and I had always been aware that he could be volatile, but this sounded serious. And we hadn't seen either of them in a month or so and because everyone was so busy – at least that's how it seemed – we didn't give it any thought. We'd texted regularly with him, but I realized it had been well over two weeks since we'd heard from him.
James was leaning on me and I ran my hand though his hair. He seemed slimmer than he already was. I said, “Do you want me to talk to him?”
His voice was weak, almost breathless. “I don't know if he'll talk to you. But I suppose you could try...”
I reached for my phone and called him. It rang and rang and finally went to voicemail. I said, “Bruno. It's Stan. Call me as soon as you get this.” I had decided not to say that James was with me. Then I texted Sergio. I knew it was about eight in the morning in Sydney, so I hoped he was available.
I got a call immediately. I stood up and went to the kitchen, not wanting James to hear everything. I said, “Sergio...Bruno broke up with James...James is here with me...he thinks Bruno has got something serious going on. Like he's on something, or he's mentally unwell...he's not sure.”
Sergio was silent for a moment. “Fuck! I wondered why we hadn't heard from him in a while. Have you called him?”
“Yeah. He's not answering. I'm worried.”
There was a pause. I could hear seagulls and wondered if Sergio was on the beach. “I wish I was there, Stan...keep trying him. James should stay there. He shouldn't be alone, right? Make him sleep with you. Shag him. Do whatever will help. He must be a mess.”
Sighing, I said, “He is a mess. I'll take care of him. Maybe we'll drive to Bristol tomorrow and see what's up. Thanks, love. I'll call you tomorrow.”
I hung up and went back to the living room. James had leaned back and his eyes were closed, but there were tears still running down his face.
Sitting down, I said, “All right. Tonight you'll stay here. Tomorrow we'll go to Bristol and try to see Bruno. OK?”
“Thanks, Stan. I really appreciate it...I'm sorry to be a bother...”
The fire was still brightly blazing. I looked at him. “You're not a bother, James. Come. Let's go to bed. We'll sort this tomorrow.”
I went to the fire and broke it up, then I took him by the hand and we went upstairs. I didn't give him a choice. I made him get out of his clothes and into our bed. I got us some water and an extra blanket. I slid in beside him as Lucy hopped up and began to knead on James' chest. I laughed. “She's trying to comfort you, James.”
He gave me a weak smile and stroked her back. Her purrs were loud and she snorted with pleasure. I turned on my side and watched the two of them, feeling sad for both James and Bruno. He nudged his nose into my neck and said, “You two are very sweet. You and Sergio, I mean.”
I laughed and kissed his shoulder. “We are, aren't we?”
James sighed. I could feel him relax. His long body seemed to fill the bed. What James didn't know was when Sergio told me to do whatever I wanted that might comfort him, he was serious. We had had a conversation one night about six months before because Sergio had been out with a friend of ours and they had got rather drunk and our friend asked Sergio if he wanted to fuck. Sergio, gentleman that he is, said no, but later, he had said to me that he actually wanted to and would that have been all right?
Talking about – or maybe renegotiating – sleeping with other people, we decided that if one of us fucked someone, we were to tell the other right away, all the details. But it wasn't to be a big deal and in fact it was meant to be fun, that telling the other was part of our sex life. And we also agreed to only sleep with people we both knew: no strangers. Like Bruno, obviously, or Sandor, or Aravind, or other friends we had in comment. And, in this case, James.
I slid my hand very slowly down James' chest until I found his cock, which I took in my hand very softly. I said, “James...if you want...”
He sighed, but I felt him start to swell in my fist. He said a little breathlessly, “Yeah...I think I want...I think it would help.”
I grinned and said, “Good. I think it will help.”
Nudging the blanket off us, I slid down in the bed, admiring his smooth chest, his pale skin, his flat belly, then a little thicket of blonde hair that surrounded his slim, cut, beautiful cock. I ran my nose over it, savouring the slightly sweaty smell of him. I stuck my nose in between his furry balls and the base and breathed again. I could smell sex and I started to fuck the bed really slowly.
I opened my mouth and sucked his balls in one at a time, letting them fall out of my mouth, then slurping up the other one. He groaned and I felt his hips push up, his hand push my head down. I stuck my tongue under his balls and licked the magical space between his ass and the bottom of his ball sac.
Taking the base of his cock in my hand, I ran my tongue all the way up the shaft and sucked the head, the salty-sweet flow of pre-cum making me lift my hips and fuck the bed even more forcefully. But I wanted this to be about him, I wanted to give him pleasure that would take his mind off the situation.
I spent some time slowly jacking him and using a lot of suction on the head of his dick, enjoying all the sounds he was making. For a mad moment, I wondered if Lucy was watching us with feline confusion, but when he pushed my head down deeper, I forgot everything else.
He thrust up into my face with a bit of force, but I liked it. I pulled back and started to stroke and inhale him at the same time. I wanted him to forget about everything else, just the feeling of his cock in my throat.
He started to gasp and he held my head steady while his hips went into action and then he cried out and suddenly a flood of cum washed over my tongue and hit the back of my mouth. I swallowed and growled and it just kept pouring out. The poor guy clearly hadn't cum in a while, but I felt very fortunate to be the recipient. I was also glad he could feel such pleasure in the midst of all the stress. I knew it didn't change anything, but at least it distracted him for a minute.
I swallowed all that goodness and sat up. I said, “You definitely needed that. And so did I.”
He bent down as if he was going to do what I had done, but I pulled him back. “James...it's fine. That was fucking hot and you don't need to worry about me.” Laying back on the bed beside him, I took my own cock in my hand and, stroking fast, blew a few ropes on to my belly. James leaned over and kissed me, then fell back on the bed. I reached for my briefs and wiped up all my cum. I turned and lay on my side. I said into his ear, “You all right?”
I felt him shrug and I wrapped my arms around his torso. He softly said, “I'll survive. Thanks, Stan. Bruno told me you were a sweet person, and I can see why.”
He turned and nudged his ass backward into my soft, sticky cock and sighed. We lay still and I just listened to him breathe. When he was asleep, I let go of him since my arms had gone to sleep and lay on my back, thinking about what we would do the next day in Bristol. I wasn't sure.
--
Once in Bristol, I dropped James at a coffee shop and drove over to Bruno's. I wasn't sure who I would meet – or even if I would meet anyone – but I felt I had to try. He lived in a flat near the centre of Bristol on Hampton Road over a shop that sold blankets. The day was clear and was almost warm, the rain having left over night.
I called Bruno from the sidewalk, looking up at his window, wondering if he was there, and if he was there, if he was ignoring me, as it rang and rang. I decided I wasn't having it. I looked around on the pavement and saw a small stone. I threw it up at the window, watching it bounce off the glass. I threw it again. Nothing. I found a bunch of little stones, a dented soft drink can and child's doll with no head that I found in the gutter. I started tossing them one after the other at the window. I wondered if I might break it, but at the same time, I didn't care. This seemed more important.
Suddenly my phone buzzed.
“What do you want, Stan?” His voice was toneless.
“Bruno...Can I come up?”
There was silence, then I heard footsteps coming down the stairs inside and the door opened. I was a little shocked. He was pale and there were purple blotches under his eyes. His t-shirt was wrinkled and there were stains on it. His black joggers were torn and clearly dirty.
With a dull, quiet voice he said, “Hi...”
I pushed past him and went up, afraid he wouldn't let me in. I stood in his living room watching him as he closed the door behind us. I was shocked at how terrible he looked. He clearly hadn't washed in a while. His hair was matted and greasy. The flat smelled like he hadn't cleaned in ages. There were dishes everywhere, and a garbage bags lying open on the kitchen floor.
I turned and he was standing just inside the door looked miserable, but defiant. I took a deep breath and said, “Bruno...what haven't you told us?”
He winced, but then said, “About what?”
“Come on Bruno...look at this place, look at yourself...”
He walked slowly over to his sofa and collapsed into it. “I don't know what you mean...”
His voice sounded like he was talking from the bottom of a well. I walked over and sat down beside him and took his hand, which was hot and a little sweaty.
I finally said, “What are you on?”
His head whirled to me, his face tense with shock. “On...? Oh...you mean...oh fuck, no! No, you don't get it.”
I stared at him for a moment, remembering a parent of a student of mine from a couple of years before. The parent reminded me of Bruno in that moment. Same lack of self care, same spaced-out manner. I squeezed his hand, wondering how to ask, wondering if I was right. I gripped Bruno's hand even tighter and asked, “It's bipolar, right? How long has it been since you stopped your medication?”
He looked at me, startled. He swallowed and his eyes filled with tears. “A few weeks...”
“Bruno...why?”
He sighed, and took his hand back. “I just thought...that I should be able to manage without them...I was feeling fine...anyway, this will pass. I'm fine...”
I decided to let myself be a little angry. “Bruno, you're not fine. James is worried sick. I'm worried. You're living in filth, you look terrible and I bet you haven't been to work in a while. Did you lose your job at the restaurant?”
He nodded. “I just couldn't go in. I needed to sleep...”
Now I was more angry. Not at him, so much, but angry at what he couldn't manage to do which was ask for help. I pulled out my phone and did some quick searching. I called the NHS number and they told me to take him to the nearest A&E department.
So we did. I put my phone in my pocket and took a deep breath. “Give me your keys.”
He looked confused and mumbled, “Why do you want my keys...?”
Finding some patience in me, I kept my voice very calm. “So Bruno can get into your flat while you're at the hospital...”
He just looked at me and I could tell he was about to argue that he was fine, everything was cool. Fuck that, I thought. He said, “But...”
“No, Bruno. You need help.” I almost dragged him downstairs and pushed him into my car and we drove to St Michal's Hospital where I handed him to the A&E people, explaining that it was a psychiatric emergency. I felt sick, but I knew it was the best thing for him. He looked at me as if I had betrayed him, but I ignored it. I walked away from the hospital and sat in my car for a while, feeling guilty, wanting to cry, wishing Sergio was beside me.
So I called Sergio, then Sandor. They were amazing, of course, and I felt better. I went to the coffee shop and found James slumped over a cappuccino. I sat down and told him where Bruno was and that there was nothing much more we could do. I asked, “Will you go back to Manchester?”
“I don't know...I have to work tomorrow...”
I thought a moment, the I dug in my pocket. “Here's Bruno's keys.” He nodded, but looked bewildered. “Call in sick tomorrow and you can and stay in Bristol for a few days. You can clean his flat up if you want. It certainly needs it. But you can see him. I think it would be great if he could see you. I can tell that deep down he feels terrible about everything so maybe let him know that you're still there, that he isn't a bad person.”
James started to cry. I put my arm around him. He sniffled and said, “Thanks, Stan. I don't know how to thank you...”
Now it was my turn to get sniffly. “Just take care of him. We all love him, James, and I know you do as well. You should be here until he gets out of the hospital. Maybe take him back to Manchester for a while. Can you do that?”
He looked at me and I could tell he felt better. “Yeah...I was thinking of doing that. He can stay at my place for a while.”
I got up and said, “Call me any time. If I don't answer, call Sandor. Do you have his number?”
“Yeah...he sends me stupid memes sometimes.”
“Good.” I leaned down and kissed him. I drove back to Shrewley, annoyed that the weather was so good, annoyed that Bruno had done what he did. I knew there was no point in me staying, that James would do what he could until Bruno came home and take care of him after.
When I got home, I curled up in front of the fire with Lucy and contemplated our friend's situation. I glanced out the window at the late winter wind, the bare branches, and the sky which was clouding over again.
--
After Sergio had slept for what seemed like days, trying to get over his jet lag from the endless trip back from Australia, I brought him a Saturday breakfast in bed. He struggled up from the depths and lay back on some pillows, taking a huge sip of the coffee I gave him.
Finally, he said, “How is Bruno?”
I leaned into him and said, “I talked to James last night after you passed out and he said he's a little better. They sent him home and James took him to Manchester.” I stopped and took a bite of my toast. “And he's promised to get a therapist which he should have done years ago. And the hospital basically threatened him with incarceration if he stopped taking his meds agains. So I think he gets it.”
Sergio nodded. “I'm amazed he didn't tell us about this before. I guess he was ashamed. You know what Carlos went through back in Uni? He had all our support. I guess Bruno didn't feel he could tell anyone or that anyone would help him. I hope's he's figured it out now.”
I agreed with him. Carlos had gone through a really bad depression when we were eighteen and Sergio and I and their parents helped him through it. “Well, maybe he will do things differently
now...especially with James, but also us. We should go and visit soon when he's feeling better.”
We finished our breakfast and even though I wanted to fuck, Sergio said he was still too exhausted, so we lay in bed and watched stupid television for hours which, I realized, was almost as much fun because he was there beside me.
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