Sweet Like Sugar by Wayne Hoffman Page B

to movies together, stayed up late together bitching about our roommates. I’d feared losing her once before, when she’d made a pass at me outside the freshman dance over Homecoming weekend; “It’s not you, it’s me,” I sputtered—and when that hackneyed excuse didn’t seem to quell her embarrassment, I quickly added in a whisper, “I’m gay.” A lonely week of silence followed, before she popped by my dorm room unannounced, ready to simply resume our friendship where we’d left off with a solemn promise that we’d always be honest with each other from that point forward. “It’ll be like that new show Will & Grace, ” she said, half-joking. We’d been best friends ever since.
    But now I had that feeling again, that it might not last. Even Will & Grace had ended eventually. She’d move on. And I’d be left behind. Alone.
    It was Saturday night. I didn’t have a date. Nobody to see a movie with, nobody to spend the night with. Not even anyone to stay home and watch Saturday Night Live with. Pathetic.
    I called Phil, and he agreed to meet me; I knew he’d cheer me up with tales of his latest boyfriend-for-a-day. I showered, got dressed, and got in the car, heading for Dupont Circle.
    â€œWhat happened to the guy from Paradise?” he asked as we stood in a video bar on P Street.
    I shook my head. “Political differences,” I said.
    â€œGay Republican, huh?”
    I didn’t feel like going into the details, so I just said, “Something like that.”
    â€œAnyone new?”
    â€œNot really,” I said. “But I have been spending a lot of time with someone. . . .”
    I told him about the rabbi. He was a bit confused.
    â€œSorry, Benji, I just can’t imagine what you two have to talk about,” he said. “I mean, if one of the priests from Saint Veronica’s popped into my office, I think I’d have a heart attack.”
    â€œYeah, your confession could take all day.”
    â€œForgive me, Father, it’s been about fifteen years since my last confession, and a lot has happened.”
    â€œIt’s not like that with the rabbi,” I said. “It’s not like he’s there on official rabbi business.”
    â€œStill,” he said. “If that’s the only man in your life right now, you definitely need to get out more.”
    Fortunately, the fact that Phil and I were together drew men to us like magic. It’s got to be some kind of hard-wired biological phenomenon: Guys who would ordinarily ignore you in a bar suddenly find you attractive when they see that someone else is talking to you. Maybe it’s the idea that you’re already with someone, unattainable, that makes the pursuit suddenly seem like a thrilling challenge—or, for the masochists, a hopeless misadventure. Or maybe it’s men’s competitive nature, trying to beat out all other suitors once they realize there are others vying for the same person. Whatever the reason, it was working. For both of us.
    Phil walked over to the bar, where he was quickly grabbed by an admirer, and as soon as I was alone, a guy moved in on me, too. Christopher was his name. A staffer for a midwestern congressman. Around thirty. Great arms, terrific laugh, breath that smelled like cinnamon. And he was a redhead.
    For a change.

CHAPTER 5
    O nce I’d seen the rabbi collapse in the parking lot, I knew he wasn’t in any condition to be walking up or down that hill anymore. The next Monday, I stopped by the store to make sure he was all right and offered to drive him to a doctor.
    â€œNo doctors,” he barked. “I’m fine.”
    â€œYou collapsed in the parking lot.”
    â€œIt was the heat,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m fine.”
    He folded his arms. I wasn’t going to win this one.
    â€œWell, you certainly shouldn’t be walking up and down these