Second Most Important Person, Part Two

[snooter]

Andy is late, or maybe Greg is early. He starts spreading out all of the paperwork they're supposed to go over and orders black coffee when the waitress comes. This is the same restaurant where they've had a standing lunch date since they started grad school and their schedules became complicated enough to require more intentional planning: Saturday at quarter til noon. Andy will order the chicken salad sandwich. This is one of the only sit-down places in L.A. that has one on the menu. Greg always orders the special, which is usually a fritatta of some sort. He checks his phone, though he hates people who can't sit alone for two seconds without staring at their phones, especially at restaurants. He has no messages from Andy about running late.

He puts his phone away and studies at their draft Operating Agreement, unable to really concentrate on the dense legal language. Their friend Rena who has almost passed the bar drew it up for them, then redrew it when Thomas had his pseudo mental breakdown and backed out of the partnership. In the initial plan Thomas was their main source of funding, probably the real reason for his cold feet. Now they've got to rely on another financier, and Greg is not thrilled about it, but it's this or nothing.

"Sorry! Sorry. I'm here."

Greg looks up to see Andy tumbling through the tightly packed tables, a bike helmet swinging from his hand and a briefcase with papers exploding out the sides under his arm. Andy will be thirty in two years, but he still looks almost exactly like he did when Greg sat down next to him in Advanced Chemistry ten years ago. Andy was a freshman, Greg a sophomore, and Greg thought he had recognized in Andy a near-doppelganger: clean cut, serious about school but not a cutthroat academic, easygoing, gay, lonely. The lonely part proved true only in the sense that Andy was looking for friends in the program. Greg remembers their first lunch together at the school cafeteria, when he learned with a combination of disappointment and envy of Andy's boyfriend, strong silent Sid, who had just gotten a job as a bouncer in a bad part of town. It was apparent about thirty minutes into Andy's monologue about their romantic history that he had never before had a friend to confide in about these particular details. Greg has, since that moment, been that friend. The one who hears everything about Sid.

"I rode my bike," Andy says, as if that isn't obvious. He's breathless and red-cheeked, his hair a mess. "It's not a bad trip from the house."

"Good to hear." Greg touches his stomach under the table. He cannot claim to look exactly like he did when he met Andy; he's put on weight. How Andy has the time and energy to be athletic with everything else going on, Greg has no idea, though he supposes Sid could get some credit for that.

"Sid's working today, I assume?" Greg says.

"Oh, yeah. The usual lineup of old ladies. You know, the weekend crowd. Is that coffee?" Andy takes Greg's cup and drinks from it, having the audacity to make a face when he finds that it's gone cold.

"Anybody famous?" Greg asks, though it's not really a fair joke, considering what happened last time Sid had famous clients.

"No," Andy says. "Just bored rich people."

"Fat bored rich people," Greg says, touching his stomach again. Andy shrugs. Sid has been working as a personal trainer for three years now. Andy says all of his clients are in love with him. He's probably right.

"Fat or not," Andy says. "They're funding our company."

"Hmm. Yes." More to the point, Sid is funding their company. It wasn't the plan, and Greg isn't comfortable with it, but Thomas has thrown them into chaos, and here they are.

"He doesn't need to be here to sign these?" Andy asks. He grabs for the papers that Greg has laid out, disordering them. Andy is a talented geologist and a hard worker, but he has no love for organization, which makes Greg nervous, considering they're about to go into business together.

"These aren't the financial documents," Greg says. "And we're not signing anything today, necessarily. I just want another round of review."

"God, it's not that complicated, is it?" Andy says. "I mean, we're still working out of our houses."

"The complication arises elsewhere," Greg says. "When we were doing this with Thomas, he had sixty percent ownership because of his investment. Now, well. We need to discuss it."

"Won't it just be fifty-fifty?" Andy says, blinking at Greg with the blue-eyed innocence that has, at times, seduced him into fantasizing about how things might have gone if Sid weren't in the picture.

"That's not really fair, is it?" Greg says. He toys with his fork. "Considering - you and Sid - you're the main investors now."

"Well, he is," Andy says. The two of them aren't married. Greg isn't sure why, though he has a few theories. It's the one Sid-related subject they do not discuss.

"Right, but, Andy - without him there is no company, and he's, well, yours, in whatever capacity. That is, you brought him to the table -"

Andy laughs, and Greg makes himself stop talking. His father would call him a fool for not having Andy sign over fifty percent of the company to him - it's not as if Sid has the business acumen to object - but Andy has become more like family to Greg than anyone else in the past ten years, and Greg would never forgive himself for taking advantage of his naive sincerity.

"At the very least, you should have fifty-one percent," Greg says. "For purposes of stockholder voting and such."

"Stockholder voting?" Andy grins. "We have one client, and he's our professor."

"Fine, yeah, I know, but personally I'm planning on this company someday being successful -"

"I know, me too," Andy says. "It's just funny, talking about stockholder voting with you." He smiles in his Calm down, Greg way. "How's Dillon?"

"Oh, he's, you know." Greg rubs his fingers over his eyes, a mannerism that he picked up from Andy during study sessions. "He'll be at the party tomorrow."

"Good. Did that show - that gallery thing - it went okay? I'm sorry we couldn't make it, but with the house, there's so much we had to do before the party -"

"I know, it's fine - and yeah, it went okay. He sold a few things."

"Good!" Andy is leaning forward now, waiting for more. "So. Yeah. He'll be at the party?"

"I said he would, Andy." Greg is tired of talking about Dillon. He enjoyed their boyfriend trouble discussions more when Andy was sobbing about the fact that his was addicted to cocaine. Which is not to say that he enjoyed that at all, of course he didn't, but it was the one time in their long history that Sid and Andy weren't perfect. "How is Sid?" he asks, though they've already covered this: he's working, among his biggest fans.

"He's so obsessed with the landscaping," Andy says. "It's really cute. He keeps talking about how he might go into it, like, as a career. He's getting tired of the rich people, I guess. He wants to work with trees."

"Ha." Greg tries to picture Sid nurturing a rose bed. He can't.

"Or something about, like, landscape security?" Andy says, narrowing his eyes. "Like, he has this friend who owns a security company, and he keeps trying to get Sid to work for him, but I don't want him doing security again, and anyway he makes a lot of money with this personal training thing because it's all him, nobody else gets a cut, but I guess he feels like a servant sometimes? I don't know, he's always dissatisfied with his job, that's like the theme of his life. We should hire him to do the books for us, if we can ever afford an employee. He's really good with money. Weirdly."

"Why weirdly?"

"Because I don't think he ever passed a math class after freshman year of high school," Andy says. He grins. "He does my taxes for me. Did I ever tell you that?"

"Yeah, you told me." Greg remembers the first time he went out with the two of them, how Sid paid for everything, parked the car while they got the table, sat in dutiful silence while they talked about their professors and classmates. Greg had tried to convince himself that it would end up being miserable, having a boyfriend like that: he would be controlling, especially about money and probably about sex, and it would become degrading. But he still wants what Andy has.

The waitress arrives, and Andy orders his chicken salad sandwich with a beer. Greg gets the goat cheese and asparagus fritatta and a Diet Coke.

"Obviously I'm back on caffeine," he says, regretting this as soon as he hears it. He didn't mean it as any sort of commentary, but now the air between them is a bit heavier, so he might as well broach the subject. "Is Sid, ah. Were you ever able to persuade him to go to meetings again?"

"No," Andy says. He sits back in his chair and shrugs. "But he's good. I mean, he's clean. Four years. I guess he knows what he's doing. He's back to smoking fucking cigarettes, though. I found some in his car last week."

"Ah, well. A lesser evil."

"Not really. I don't care that he drinks, he probably drinks less than I do, but those things will kill him just as surely. Slower, maybe, but. God, he's been smoking them since he was, like. Ten? I have this distinct memory of the first time I saw him smoking. It terrified me. Then when we were in high school he would smoke after we had sex, and, uh. I guess I kind of liked it, then. Stupidly."

"He had quit, though, for awhile?"

Andy huffs. "Yeah. When he was doing coke. Cigarettes weren't an issue then. That was how I could tell, actually, when he was on it again. So now it's almost a comfort to find cigarettes in his car? But not really." The drinks arrive, and Andy gulps from his beer. "So Dillon's definitely going to come tomorrow?"

"Fuck, Andy. Yes."

"I'm just trying to get a head count! For the food."

"Of course." Dillon has been Greg's unreliable plus-one for the past two years. He's a photographer slash video-artist who works as a lighting supervisor on the sets of big budget porn films as a day job. They met in a therapist's waiting room. Dillon has a lot of self worth issues; he still sees the therapist twice a week, while Greg quit after five sessions. Dillon is three years younger than Greg, and soft in a way that makes Greg feel okay about his own expanding girth. He occasionally suspects that Dillon is the love of his life, which is worrisome, because he's flaky and moody and doesn't want to be 'tied down right now.' Greg is the one who always picks up the bill and parks the car. He does his own taxes, and in fact helped Dillon with his last year. Dillon is easily overwhelmed by paperwork.

"Did you tell him thank you for me?" Andy asks. He has a habit of talking with his mouth full that is particularly disgusting when he's eating chicken salad. "For helping us move?"

"Yes, I told him."

"That was a big help." Andy was impressed that Dillon actually showed for such an unglamorous social occasion. Greg was pretty surprised himself, but lately things with Dillon have been fair to good.

"He keeps trying to get me to go back to Dr. Bederman," Greg says.

"What? Why?" Andy has a rather Midwestern sense of suspicion about therapists. Sid blew through at least five of them before giving up and going it alone.

"I don't know." Greg sighs and pokes at the fritatta, which grew unappetizingly cold too quickly, as they always do. "He thinks I'm unhappy."

"Are you?"

"No," Greg says, and it's true. "It's just that I'm not - I don't know. I feel like I'm lacking something that I can't put my finger on."

"Well." Andy snorts and looks down at his plate, collecting stray bits of chicken salad with his fork. "I could tell you why. You don't have to pay a therapist."

"It's not Dillon. He doesn't dictate my happiness."

"Seems kind of like he does."

"Andy."

"Greg. Look, do you want my advice?"

"About this? No."

"You need to date someone your own age. Or older. You're mature, you have your shit together. He doesn't, and that's okay, he's twenty-five -"

"Twenty-six. Two years younger than you."

"Whatever - look. I like Dillon, he's great."

"You do not like him, you never have."

"Uh! What? Yes, I do! Hello, did I not buy one of his pictures last year?"

Greg rolls his eyes and looks skyward. It's a pretty day, cloudless and warm. Dillon is probably still asleep in Greg's bed, unless he let himself out. He has a shoot later today, something at a producer friend's mansion. It involves a famous porn star who just divorced from a less famous musician. Sid and Dillon are always able to have a dialogue about this sort of thing; they know people. Andy and Greg will mutter about their research in the meantime, defensively.

"Can we skip the portion of the conversation where we evaluate each other's romantic choices?" Greg says, feeling especially testy today. Maybe it's the paperwork that he's had to anchor with flatware and sweating water glasses. Andy raises his eyebrows.

"Romantic choices?" he says. "What, you have some evaluations about mine that you want to share?"

"Never mind." Greg has always tried to stay neutral on the subject of Sid. He bit his tongue even through the very expensive rehab-drugs-rehab years. It's not his place.

They're both silent for awhile. Andy picks up some random documentation and pretends to read it. Greg extracts pieces of asparagus from his fritatta and eats them, sighing.

"Let me ask you something," Andy says after he's stewed for a few minutes. He's always quick to forgive. Hence the success of his romance with Sid.

"Ask away," Greg says. If he's honest, Andy's forgiveness has served their friendship well, too.

Andy stares at him for a minute, blinks. He looks like he's not sure if he can trust Greg with what he's about to say, which has never happened before.

"Do you think you'd ever want children?" he asks. Greg frowns, watching the blush spread across Andy's cheeks.

"I'm flattered," Greg says. A dumb joke. Andy rolls his eyes.

"I'm serious," he says.

"I can see that. Hmm. I don't know, it's possible? I certainly don't want them now. Why?"

"I don't know." Andy picks up his empty beer glass and regards it sadly. "I think I want them. Maybe not now, but. Soon, I think."

"Understandable." Greg can easily picture Andy has a father. He's responsible, caring, attentive. He still eats candy, and collects miniature plastic toys that live on his desk. He has, as they say, a lot of love to give. "How does Sid feel about this?"

Andy scoffs. "Are you kidding? I'd never ask him."

Greg waits to understand how one follows the other. "But he - I presume he is the person you would raise these children with?"

"In a dream world, I guess." Andy flicks his empty glass. "I'm afraid, um. Well, he'd laugh, wouldn't he? If I even asked about this?"

"You know him better than I do," Greg says. He's guiltily pleased by this turn in the conversation, and he tries to hide it by staring down at his dissected fritatta. "It's something you should at least talk about. Whether he'd laugh or not."

"Well, that's what I'm really asking you, I guess," Andy says. "Would he laugh? Do you think?"

"So now you do want my evaluation?"

"Don't be a dick. I can't stop thinking about this. Especially now that we have the house."

"Like I said, you need to talk with him about it. Would he laugh? I doubt it. He doesn't often laugh at you, seems like."

"That's true," Andy says, mumbling. "But. I'm still too scared to find out what he wants. In that area. Because I'm pretty sure what he wants is 'nothing.'"

"Why are you so sure? He certainly enjoys providing for you."

"Well. I've told you about his father."

"Somewhat." As a person with father issues on the complete opposite end of the spectrum, Greg has always been curious to know more. "He's an addict, too, is that right?"

"Right. And just. Sid didn't have a very happy childhood."

Greg finds that hard to believe, considering Andy's stories about their time together as children. Greg would have quite enjoyed being kissed and stroked and sucked off by the hopelessly devoted neighbor boy at the height of his adolescent frustration.

"I just - I don't know." Andy rubs his hand over his eyes. "Don't tell him I said anything about this, please."

"I'll try to avoid the subject during our daily chats."

Andy smirks. "Okay, smart ass. I mean don't mention it at the party when you're drunk."

"Ah, well. I'll see what I can do."

"Greg, I'm serious." Andy grips the side of the table, nearly upsetting the water glasses. "I'm not ready to have this conversation with him. I don't want it brought up - I shouldn't have even said anything."

"Jesus, I was kidding. I won't say a word, cross my heart."

Andy stares at him for a moment, then nods and gulps down half his glass of water. Greg feels for him. He's got all his eggs in the Sid basket, for better or worse. He opens his mouth to ask Andy if he thinks he'll ever marry Sid, then thinks better of it and motions for the check.

"What time should we be over there tomorrow?" he asks when they're standing on the sidewalk out in front of the restaurant, Andy unchaining his bike.

"Five?" Andy says. "Unless you want to help us set up."

"I don't know if I'll be able to liberate Dillon from his porno shoot until six, but I'll try."

"What sort of movie is he doing?" Andy asks, grinning. "Straight?"

"Sadly, yes. Something about alien sex pollen, I don't know. It depresses him to talk about it."

"Why? It's honest work. I think it's kind of awesome."

"Just don't give him a hard time about it at the party, okay?"

"A hard time - no, that's not - alright, alright. I'll ask him about his gallery show."

"Actually, don't mention that either. I think it went fine, but he's decided it was a failure."

"Oh, boy." Ten years in California and Andy still says this unironically. "Well, what can I ask about?"

"The Dodgers. Unless they lose tonight." Greg leans forward to hug Andy goodbye. "Be careful on that thing," he says.

"You sound like Sid," Andy says. "He's not a fan of the bike. He would drive me around in a tank if he could."

"And you really think he won't want children?" Greg was going to let the subject drop, but Andy is being really dim. Of course Sid would raise children with him. He'll give Andy anything he wants, everything he asks for. Andy is fooling himself, but not Greg, claiming that's his only concern about the endeavor. Andy shakes his head and mounts the bike.

"I shouldn't have said anything," he says.

"No, I'm glad you told me," Greg says. "You can confide in me, you know that. I won't say anything to him."

"Or Dillon," Andy says.

"Dillon! Why would it come up with him? Fine, I promise, Dillon won't hear about it. Quit looking at me like that."

Andy quirks his mouth and studies Greg for a moment, his feet braced on the ground as he wheels the bike back and forth.

"Fifty-one percent," he says. "Okay. That's what we'll do."

He pushes away from the curb then, pedaling along with the flow of traffic. Greg feels outsmarted, though he was the one who offered fifty-one percent, and by all rights Andy could ask for seventy-five. He stands there watching Andy on his bike until he can't see him anymore, then heads for his car, which has a neon pink parking ticket tucked under the front wipers.

*

"We have to get them a housewarming gift, really? Even after we helped them move?"

On the way to the party, Dillon's mood has taken a turn for the worse. He had to work later than they thought, and they're stopped a small nursery twenty minutes from Andy and Sid's new house, perusing the cacti section.

"Just something for the yard," Greg says. "Apparently Sid is into landscaping. Apparently it's cute."

"Cute." Dillon snorts. He's still dressed for work, in black track pants and a sweat-stained gray t-shirt. He's been in the sun all day and his cheeks are bright red. "I wouldn't call that guy cute. Not to his face. Or otherwise, really."

"He's attractive, though, don't you think?" Greg has worried about some of Dillon's conversations with Sid in the past. They get along well.

"If you like that type," Dillon says.

"That type?"

"That Byronic hero, recovered addict type."

"Recovering. There's no cure. So they say."

"You think he'd start using again?" Dillon looks wounded by this, and Greg feels guilty, then annoyed.

"I don't know," Greg says. "Possibly not, but it's something that will always be on Andy's mind. In terms of, you know. The future." He thinks of mentioning Andy's desire to have children, but can't bring himself to break a promise to Andy, as ever. "What about this?" he gestures to a planter packed with cacti, landscaped with little stones. Dillon groans and puts his hand over his face, as if this question is too much for him to handle right now.

"I don't know shit about plants," he says. "Get whatever you want, it's your money."

"I'm asking for your opinion. It's polite to offer one when you're asked."

"Fine, yeah, great." Dillon is bellowing now, his hands on his hips. "Whatever, just pick something. I need a fucking beer."

Greg ends up selecting a net full of elephant ear bulbs. They always had them in their garden when he was young, and he used to hide under them, a book open on his chest while he daydreamed about living in a jungle. He tries to envision Sid and Andy's child doing this, but he just ends picturing Andy as he is now, full grown, smiling up at the giant green leaves.

"There aren't going to be a lot of people at this, are there?" Dillon asks as they turn onto Sid and Andy's street, which is lined with cars.

"It's a party," Greg says. Dillon sighs.

"I've been around people all day," he says.

"What do you want? You want to turn around and go home?"

"No, no, God. Calm down. I was just hoping it wouldn't be that crowded. Are these geology department people or what?"

"I have no idea. There's a chance Sid's contingent will show up. Bouncers and gym rats and Narcotics Anonymous associates."

"Why do you say that like it's an incentive for me?"

"I didn't! I don't! Suspend your volatility, please. We're here."

Sid and Andy's first house together has been a long time coming, but what they've ended up with was worth the wait. It's modern but understated, in the hills, a view all the way to the distant ocean. There's a pool with a disappearing horizon, a kitchen that would suit a professional chef, and a basement that will serve as Sid's personal gym. Even and maybe especially during the coke-addled years, he's always made money hand over fist.

"You know he never graduated from high school," Greg mutters when they're at the front door with its impressive iron work and custom glass, waiting to be let in.

"That's everything to you, isn't it?" Dillon says. Greg was aware that the comment was unwise, but he doesn't regret it. Dillon never finished college and has a tremendous chip on his shoulder about it. Greg is tired of tip-toeing around that particular subject.

Sid is the one who pulls open the door, beer in hand, grinning. He looks good, in his uniform of jeans and black boots, white t-shirt, tattoos his only accessory. Greg holds up the net of bulbs.

"Congratulations," he says. "The place looks great."

"What the fuck is this?" Sid asks, laughing as he takes the elephant ears from him.

"A present," Greg says. "Bulbs. Andy told me you're into gardening now."

"Well, shit," Sid says, still examining the bulbs like they're shrunken heads. "Thanks." He drops them to his side and grins at Dillon. "What's up, man?"

"Just got off of work," Dillon says. He leans forward to hug Sid, slapping his back. That's new, or maybe it's just for the sake of irritating Greg.

"Got a boner, then?" Sid says. Greg startles, thinking he's referring to the hug. Dillon laughs, and Greg remembers what work means for him.

"Nah, too many fake tits swinging around," Dillon says. "Kills the mood."

"I hear ya," Sid says. "Well, c'mon in. Need a drink?"

"You know it," Dillon says. They have this shared language that makes Greg's skin crawl. Dillon played football in high school. Sid smoked post-coital cigarettes while Andy dozed on his chest. Greg was president of the astronomy club, virginal and greasy.

Greg is relieved to see that, yes, the party is mostly made up of their geology department friends, including a few professors who adore him. He makes the rounds, noting that Sid and Dillon are sticking together by the bar. When he finally locates Andy it's out on the pool deck, where Andy is lighting some outdoor lanterns that Greg helped him pick out at the mall last weekend.

"Finally!" Andy says. He pulls Greg into a hug. "I was starting to worry. You're never late!"

"Blame Dillon," Greg says.

"Oh, I do." Andy grins. "Well?" He throws his arms out. "What do you think?"

"I'm really proud of you," Greg says. He's surprised to find that his throat is a little tight. Andy has wanted this for a long time, and at some point Greg managed to forget how badly he wanted to see him get it. "It's beautiful. I brought you elephant ears, I'm not sure what Sid's done with them."

"You what?"

"Never mind - I'm going for a drink."

Andy follows him to the bar. Sid and Dillon are bullshitting about porn stars, laughing. Greg makes himself a Crown and Seven while Andy thumbs open a beer. Greg can tell he's already had a few; his smile is permanent and he's in touchy-feely mode, squeezing everybody's shoulders before gluing himself to Sid's side.

"There's food, did you guys get food?" Andy asks.

"Priorities," Dillon says, lifting his beer. Andy laughs harder than necessary.

"Check it out," Sid says, hoisting the net of elephant ear bulbs for Andy to see. "For the backyard."

"Oh, that's awesome, thank you guys." Andy taps the bulbs with his finger so that the bag swings in Sid's grip. "Did we show you the lemon tree? It's the first thing we planted."

"The lemon tree, oh Christ," Greg says. "You don't know my anxiety surrounding this thing," he says to Dillon.

"Greg took care of it for us whenever we were out of town," Andy says. "For, what? Seven years? I can't believe it's still alive."

There's an awkward pause wherein at least three of them think about the other things that they sometimes can't believe are still alive after the past seven years.

"Anyway," Sid says. "These are great." He puts the bulbs behind the bar. "Thanks again."

Dillon avoids Greg for most of the party, probably still mad about that comment he made at the front door. Greg does his best not to care, drinking too much and exchanging ass kissing remarks with his colleagues, who are all curious about the surveying company, and, more so, about the drama with Thomas.

"I heard he's in India?" Rena says.

"No telling," Greg says. "He claimed to be headed there, but I can't see it lasting long. He's so germ phobic. And picky about what he eats, God. I can't imagine him surviving in a country where everything is spicy."

"What set it off?" Rena's boyfriend asks. Greg forgets his name; he's a fellow law student, too short for her.

"He claims it was this comment I made about the fact that he hasn't finished his degree yet," Greg says. "I only meant that it was relevant to getting grant funding, which was something we were considering when we were still trying to figure out the direction we were going in. But I really think he just didn't want to commit financially. He wants to run around collecting degrees forever, no real responsibility."

"So who's funding you now?" Henry Chup asks, appearing at Greg's shoulder.

"It's the host," Rena says before Greg can offer something less specific. "Sid. Andy's boyfriend."

"Oh, fantastic!" Henry says. "He's independently wealthy, I take it?"

"In a sense," Greg says. He actually has no idea what Sid's net worth is, and sometimes gets the sense that Andy doesn't, either.

"Lucky Andy. Where did they meet?"

"In pre-school," Rena says.

"Shut up," Henry says. "You're joking." They all look to Greg for confirmation. He is the Sid and Andy historian of the group, after all.

"They grew up together," Greg says. "Next door neighbors. High school sweethearts. The whole thing."

"Oh, my God," Henry says. "That's fucking spectacular."

"Yes, well." Greg drains his drink and searches the room for Sid or Dillon, finding neither. "It wasn't all wine and roses."

"No?" Henry seems especially interested. Greg always thought he had a crush on Andy, though he's nominally straight. Rena and her boyfriend have drifted off into the crowd.

"Well, it's a long story," Greg says. He pauses, weighing his options here. Everyone has seemed so bored with him tonight, and he detected hints of smug pessimism in some of the 'encouraging' comments about the company. "There was a drug thing."

"Oh?" Henry actually looks disappointed with him, or maybe it's just the light in here, which is too low for a housewarming party.

"Well, you remember when Sid was with that woman. Employment-wise, that singer."

"Sure, yeah, sort of. Samantha?"

"Seneca. She was trying to get someone accused of attempted murder, for attention or whatever. I guess the case got dropped eventually. She was nuts. Anyway, it got intense."

"Damn." Henry sips from his drink; he's using a straw, absurdly. "When was this?"

"Oh, years ago. Four years ago. It was tough. I was sort of the rock there for awhile. Andy was close to quitting school, but I wouldn't let him."

"You mean - Andy?" Henry says, frowning. "Andy was the one - with the drugs?"

"No, no, but you're still, you know, involved, when your romantic partner goes through such a thing. It still drains you, especially when you're trying to get an advanced degree. Sid was actually very calm about it, he compartmentalizes, or anyway doesn't express much emotion, but Andy was a wreck. They almost broke up. I put Andy to bed on my couch one night, and in the morning I walk in and guess who's there with him? Right on my couch, Andy asleep in his arms like everything's great. It was kind of a relief, though. There's a certain, you know, level of guardianship in that relationship. If you know what I'm saying."

Henry seems leery, and Greg is aware of the fact that he's starting to sound like an asshole. He needs to eat something more, but he hasn't got an appetite. He mumbles something about finding the bathroom and makes himself scarce. Before he can get there he runs into Andy, who is just as lit as Greg, though more cheerfully.

"Let me show you something," he says, pulling Greg through the crowd by the hand.

"Have you seen Dillon?" Greg asks.

"Dillon? No, it's the lemon tree, let me show you."

Greg doesn't want to see the lemon tree, but he lets Andy take him there. It's planted at the eastern edge of the yard, surrounded by pine straw and a little circle of stones. It's barely two feet tall, stunted after years of being confined to its ceramic pot, and bears no fruit.

"That's terrific, Andy," Greg says when Andy stands there staring at him and smiling, waiting for a reaction. "Very cute."

"I just hope it does okay," Andy says. "In the ground, I mean. I hope the shock of a new, you know, environment won't hurt it. I hope it takes root well."

"That's a lot of hope."

"Is everybody asking you about Thomas?" Andy asks, turning to look at the house. It's the sort of place that seems designed to be lit warmly from within at this hour of the evening, party guests spilling from the open patio doors.

"Yes, they're asking about him, and I don't know what to tell them," Greg says. "It's all just gossip. I haven't heard from him. Have you?"

"No." Andy is watching the house so intently that Greg thinks he must be looking at something, someone, but there's nothing special going on in the area he's staring at. "I think we're going to be okay," he says.

"Sure." Greg doesn't know if he's talking about the company, the house, Sid, or everything in general. "Hey, you know what I was just thinking of? For whatever reason?"

"What?"

"That night when you slept on my couch, and I woke up in the morning, went in to make you coffee, and Sid was there with you."

"Oh, yeah." Andy takes a deep breath and pushes it out, as if to detoxify. "I wasn't going to let him in. But then I did. I can't believe we didn't wake you up. We must have talked for three hours. That was when I knew he could get clean for good. 'Cause he came to me instead of going out to get fucked up and then coming to me, which was what he used to do." He looks at Greg, frowning a little. "You're still thinking about that?" he says. "That was, what?"

"Four years ago," Greg says. "I suppose. Approximately. Don't you still think about it?"

"Well, obviously, but." Andy shrugs. "We've been through a lot. We grew up. The lemon tree's in the ground. Right?"

"Right. Was there any sort of ceremony? Between the two of you? When you planted it?"

As if it's his right to know. But Andy smiles at him.

"Yeah," he says. "We went inside and had sex. You want another drink?"

Greg accepts, and wanders the house with his fresh Crown and Seven, looking for Dillon. He finds him down in the basement with Sid and three guys Greg doesn't recognize. They're playing darts. Greg sits on a bar stool and watches the game without interest, thinking of Sid and Andy having sex in the middle of the afternoon, that tree fresh in the ground. Greg was still a virgin when he met Andy, and used to grill him about sex without shame. All of Andy's experiences were with Sid. He would brag, also without shame, or maybe just obliviously. Greg regrets having asked all of that, now.

"You gonna play?" Dillon asks. Greg isn't sure if he's being teased or sincerely invited to participate in what he's embarrassed but resigned to think of as the boys' club. He shrugs.

"I'm not much of an athlete," he says.

"Don't be snobby," Dillon says. He's kneading Greg's shoulders with painful enthusiasm.

"I'm not be snobby, I'm being honest. I don't have hand-eye coordination."

Dillon starts karate-chopping Greg's shoulders instead, which actually feels good. Greg was never satisfied with any of his bed mates until Dillon, which is probably the reason he's so far been the only contender for the potential love of Greg's life.

"How important is sex?" Greg asked Andy once, when he was dating an adjunct professor who only ever wanted blow jobs. "To a relationship?"

Andy seemed to consider the question seriously. They were twenty-one years old; this was before Greg found out about the drug situation. Andy might have already known.

"I don't know," Andy said. "To me it's pretty important. But I've always had it really good. In that area."

Before Dillon, Greg never liked being the fuck-er as opposed to the fuck-ee. He was actually disappointed the first time, when things started heading in that direction, but then Dillon went so nuts for it that Greg felt like he'd spent all of his twenties being underappreciated in that area, and the fact that Dillon cuddled up to him post-fuck and fell asleep with his head tucked under Greg's chin didn't hurt, either. Dillon has the softest hair Greg has ever felt on a grown man's head, and he's become overly accustomed to rubbing his face in it after sex. He doesn't know that he could enjoy whatever came before if he didn't have that to look forward to.

He plays darts with Dillon on his team, and they lose to Sid and a guy with a backward baseball cap and a tattoo of the Queen of Hearts on his left arm, but it's fun, and Greg begins to actually enjoy himself. He listens to Sid's plans for the gym, and tries to explain the concept behind the company he's founding with Andy to the Queen of Hearts guy, who keeps thinking that he understands until finally Greg just pretends that yes, they are simply surveying for construction sites and not providing long term consultation to urban planning agencies. Andy appears to ask them where they've all been and announces that the party is already breaking up on the first floor.

"That's the geology department for you," Greg says.

"Yeah, I've heard chemistry has way better parties," Andy says. He hangs on Sid's shoulders and laughs when Sid squats down so that Andy can climb onto his back. It would be awkward, maybe, if everyone wasn't drinking, or if Andy didn't look so happy to be lifted off the floor, his legs winding around Sid's waist.

"You gonna carry me back upstairs?" Andy asks, nuzzling Sid's neck.

"He's showing off," a guy who was introduced as Barney says. Barney is the only one here bigger than Sid, a friend who either owns or attends Sid's gym.

"If he was showing off he'd bench press him," Queen of Hearts says.

"Don't," Andy says, softly. He squeezes himself more tightly around Sid in a way that makes Greg wonder if he has a boner that he doesn't want everyone seeing.

"Wasn't gonna," Sid says. He kisses Andy's chin and carries him upstairs like he's weightless. Barney and Queen of Hearts follow, and Greg turns to Dillon, who is still throwing at the dart board.

"Had enough of people yet?" Greg asks.

"Nah, I'm good," Dillon says. "These are my kind of people, you were right. The basement dwellers."

"Ha. You hold your own pretty well with the geology folks."

"Gee, thanks."

"That was meant to be a compliment. Or an expression of gratitude." Greg thinks of the first time Andy brought Sid out with the department crowd. Andy was visibly nervous, Sid obviously uncomfortable and trying to seem like he didn't give a shit about what they thought about him. Every question was met with a one word answer, and he drank throughout the meal, though at the time he was only nineteen.

"If I could afford a place like this, would you move into it with me?" Greg asks. He used to be better about not humiliating himself when drunk.

"I already basically live with you," Dillon says.

"Huh? In what sense? Just because you have a toothbrush there?"

"I'm over there all the time."

It doesn't feel that way to Greg. He's tired of sleeping alone, and going out to dinner with Andy and Sid, having no one to bring along. Dillon will go through moods when he needs to spend whole days in his darkroom, or camped out in front of the computer playing video games, or 'off the grid' in the sense that he won't answer Greg's calls.

"So basically you're saying no, you wouldn't move in with me, mini-mansion or not."

"Greg." Dillon turns from the dartboard and gives him a look that could only be owned by someone who spent the whole day watching marginally attractive people have sex for money.

"What?"

"If you could afford this place, you wouldn't be with me," Dillon says.

"Excuse me? By what logic?"

"Never mind." He pitches a dart at the board, missing the bullseye by ten inches. "You're starting to sound like one of your professors. 'By what logic.' By jove, Watson! Suspend your volatility!"

Greg is flattered. People don't usually listen to what he says closely enough to quote him.

"I don't consider you the Watson to my Holmes," he says, though now he will always be tempted to.

"Why not? I'm fat enough."

"You? Look at me! The problem is, we're both Watson. Though actually I don't find that to be a problem."

"See, there you go again," Dillon says. He walks to Greg and slaps his hands onto his shoulders. "You don't find that to be a problem, actually."

"Is that supposed to be a British accent?"

"You're obnoxious tonight," Dillon says, but then he kisses Greg like it was a compliment.

"Here's a question," Greg says. "Sid and Andy: who is Watson?"

Dillon snorts. "Uh, if you're asking who's getting plowed, I'm gonna guess Andy."

"Well, of course, but there's more to it than that. Holmes was the scientist. He was the more rational mind. Watson was his support system. Though actually, I think Holmes was a coke head?"

"You're so obsessed with that," Dillon says. He actually looks kind of mad. "Give the guy a break."

"What are you talking about? Give him a break? Look around you, Dill. He's gotten a few breaks, I'd say."

Dillon shakes his head and backs off. Greg wants to retract what he said, but he's suddenly furious. Sid has made a small fortune off of being admired by people like Dillon: people who can, in one way or another, afford it.

"You weren't around in those days, okay?" Greg says. "You didn't see what he put Andy through. He was so humiliated by the whole thing, and so panicked at the thought that people would find out, that his mother would find out -"

"Maybe if you weren't so fucking in love with Andy you'd be able to forgive Sid for not being perfect," Dillon says. It comes out unnaturally, like a line he'd been saving up for the right moment. Greg stares at him.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he says. He feels as if he's been caught, though he's not in love with Andy. The truth is worse: he's allowed his life to revolve around his best friend's. Greg wasn't even a declared geology major until Andy came along. He was going to do astronomy, but then rocks just made more fiscal sense.

"Whatever," Dillon says. "I'm sick of it. Who's Watson, Sid or Andy? We were talking about me and you, I thought. Jesus Christ."

He walks upstairs, and Greg sits there on his bar stool, sobered as if struck. He thinks of the day he met Dillon, in Dr. Bederman's waiting room, Dillon staring at a magazine that he obviously wasn't reading, his knee jiggling crazily like he'd never been to a therapist before. He's been seeing them since he was twelve years old, when his father caught him masturbating to a particular scene in D2: The Mighty Ducks where somebody is shirtless. He grew up in Wyoming and moved to L.A. because the Dodgers play here. Greg laughed when Dillon told him that, in the way that you laugh at charming hyperbole, and Dillon just smiled uncertainly like he didn't understand why that would be funny.

Part Two, continued