Wait and Hope: Chapter Eleven
Leftovers
Harry looked at himself in the mirror inspecting his hair one more time. He had been a bit skeptical when Martha had offered to trim it for him after he had fretted that he looked too old and scruffy for a date.
Harry had sworn to himself he wouldn’t let old doubts and fears get in the way of his second chance. But no matter how determined he was to fulfill those resolutions he couldn’t overcome a lifetime of self-consciousness overnight. Maybe it wasn’t quite the light-hearted joke he had meant it to be when he’d blithely answered his friend’s question, “Do you know a good barber shop that’s open all day? My apologies to Jack here, but I’m looking as shaggy as a dog. At my age I’m not what they call, man-candy, but there’s no need to compound that with hair sticking out at all angles.”
Martha had tsked loudly and gawked at Harry like he’d taken leave of his senses. “I want you to know that I think you are very attractive. If you weren’t…well I’d go after you myself. And that young man of yours is blind in love with you.”
Martha arose pulling Harry to stand along with her, “But if it’ll make you feel better about how you look, I can cut your hair.” When Harry had balked, ready to protest, she tugged him into her small kitchen, pressing him to sit in one of the chairs at the two person dinette table, “Trust me. I had four sons with hair that grew faster than my money tree.” She smiled recalling fond memories, “They never saw a real barber until they went off to college.” Harry’s neighbor dug through a drawer pulling out an electric clipper and a pair of barber scissors. Clicking the scissors mischievously, she winked. “And they lived.”
Harry had laughed weakly, but nodded okay. Martha had taken care of and watched out for him, all the while never knowing who he really was. How could he not trust her now, even it was for something as simple as accepting her word that she could cut hair? So she had draped a towel around his shoulders then began snipping at his hair with the scissors while chatting away recounting stories of her boys and haircuts past.
When Martha was finished she handed him a hand-held mirror to check for himself and swept up the floor. After seeing his pleasantly surprised smile looking at his reflection, she removed the towel, brushed off his shirt and then shooed him out the door with a container of leftovers from lunch in his hand. “For your dinner and you had better eat it!”
Just before he’d started to close the door to his apartment Martha shouted up the stairs, “Don’t worry about the time! You better stop by and tell me about your date! You hear me Harry Furnham?”
His friend had done an excellent job. Harry had to admit it was as good as or better than some cuts done by the high priced stylists he used to go to once upon a time. He rubbed at his chin thinking maybe he should shave now but opted for in the morning after he had showered.
Instead, he went into the spare bedroom to retrieve a shower sized metal washtub out of its niche in the office closet and carried it back into the bath. It was Jack’s turn to get spruced up for the ‘date’. Once the tub was filled with water, Harry turned to the door assuming he would need to go in search of Jack who was probably hiding under Furnham’s bed. The canine was as brave as any other when taking on armed men with guns, but sensing it was time for his weekly bath the dog wasted no time running for cover. It was especially rough on them both now with Harry needing to do touch-ups to the dye job covering Jack’s markings.
Harry thought of the phrase-and just when you’ve think you’ve seen it all-not only didn’t he have to go in search of Jack, but the dog squeezed past him and voluntarily hopped into the wash tub. Harry wondered if Jack wanted to also look his best tomorrow but shrugged it off as fanciful thinking on his part.
Even with Jack’s cooperation, when bath time was over, the tub rinsed out and put away with his four-legged companion curled up on his doggie bed, Harry’s back still hurt. He fought the urge to grab a drink to ease the pain, instead opting to fix a cup of tea and take some pain relievers.
Trying to sit on one of the wooden chairs at the kitchen table always seemed to make his backache worse so Harry took his tea into the living room and settled himself into the one extravagance he’d purchased since moving in. The recliner was upholstered in a comfortable wool blend material warm brown in color. Best of all, the chair was equipped with a heated head and backrest complete with a rolling vibrator. Sitting in the chair had felt like heaven to his aching back and neck until he had allowed ninety-proof to become his panacea.
With the warmth of the Magic Massager easing the ache of his strained back, Harry reclined the chair before becoming immersed in reading a book he had purchased months ago and had yet to crack open the cover.
When the wireless handset to his landline rang, Harry fully expected it to be his supervisor calling to let him know where he might be needed Monday, but was more than pleasantly surprised when he heard Rafe’s soft spoken voice on the other end of the line.
Rafe apologized for leaving earlier without even discussing a time that he would come by to pick Harry up the next day. They finally agreed on one pm after Harry had insisted Rafe go home and get some sleep after working all night.
Rafe wouldn’t divulge the secret of their destination, even after Harry tried to explain he needed to know how warmly to dress. He could feel a flush creep up his face and wasn’t sure the heat he was feeling now was entirely the chair when Rafe lowered his voice and rasped huskily into the phone, “Wear something comfortable and easy to remove in case things get a little too warm.”
Harry stuttered a bit before asking if there was anything he needed to bring. Rafe laughed softly hearing how much he had affected the other man before his before his voice grew even softer as he told Harry, “Just yourself, I’ll handle everything.” That flush crept even higher when Rafe’s implication was that the food wasn’t the only thing he planned on handling.
Rafe did not keep what food he actually planned on bringing a secret by detailing everything he was preparing in that same soft, seductive voice. When Harry started to protest that it was too much food, too much work; Rafe purred in a rolling wave of obviously banked desire, “It’s no problem. I need to keep my hands occupied until I can get them on you… I mean.” A puff of air could be heard as Rafe laughed almost soundlessly. “I mean until I see you.”
Harry reached down to turn the Magic Massager off; he was definitely getting way too hot.
“All…alright then, I’ll…I’ll see you tomorrow. “
John ended the call in a smoky voice full of promise and mischief. “I hope to be seeing all of you on our date too.”
The line went click and Harry was left breathing heavily and sweating. Lord what that man could do with his voice alone was nearly pornographic!
Harry flipped the lever forward to the chair’s footrest. When his feet dropped, he used the motion to propel himself into standing and hobbled off towards the kitchen ignoring the small twinge of protest his back gave leaving its warm haven. He needed to cool down-now!
Opening his refrigerator door and moving aside the pitcher of Rafe’s horrible morning-after cure, Harry grabbed the reused milk jug filled with some of Martha’s homemade lemonade. Regardless that he had never been a lemonade drinker; Harry had downed three glasses of it before he started to feel half-way normal, like he wasn’t boiling in his own clothing.
Harry poured himself one more glass before placing the lemonade back in the fridge. The back of his hand brushed the food container his friend had sent up with him. In her odd caring way the woman had ordered him to eat the contents for dinner and knowing Martha she’d more than likely find some way to make sure he did just that.
Harry watched the container turning on its microwave carousel as the contents were being reheated. Heating up a meal was so normal, so why all the sudden did it feel like he needed to shake himself awake? This was all so surreal, like he was having some kind of bizarre dream.
Why, just moments ago one of the most gorgeous men in the city was seducing him slowly and so effectively Harry had felt like he was being devoured by the heat of desire.
The next moment he was sitting down to eat reheated food from an old Tupperware container, leftovers given to him by a kindly old neighbor lady residing downstairs. Both of them living in the same unit in the rundown row of brownstones in a neighborhood of the forgotten poor that Harry now called home.
Was this why he was feeling so disconnected right now? Was it because reality was rearing its head? Was being with Rafe a dream, a dream Harry needed to wake himself from before he was hurt? Why was this depressing cloud of doubt still hovering over him? Why did he still believe he had nothing to offer Rafe? Harry looked around his modest apartment and sighed. What did he have to offer?
Harry hadn’t noticed that Jack had followed him into the kitchen until the dog whined hearing his sigh. The dog shuffled over to Harry’s chair and looked up at Furnham big brown eyes full of love and hope. Jack’s entire demeanor had changed since Rafe had entered their lives. Jack did not question whether he deserved to have Rafe; he simply enjoyed the kind, gentle and amazing man. Harry realized he should do the same. His name and the outer trappings had changed, but Rafe was still John. Harry needed to trust Rafe as Harold had once trusted John
Resolve set and gloom cleared, Harry attempted to start his dinner. Once more he only expected to be able to eat just a few bites, it was only five hours ago that he was stuffed to the gills. However, once the first morsel passed his lips Harry was ravenous.
Harry had crawled into bed well past two AM, too keyed up with hope and excitement to try sleeping any sooner. After dinner he had made himself comfortable in the recliner once more and continued reading his book from cover to cover. Feeling drowsy from the soothing lull of his chair and reading for hours Harry thought surely he would fall asleep straight away.
But even as drowsy as Harry felt he still lay there for hours thinking about what might happen between Rafe and him later that day. Harry had finally started to doze off when he felt the mattress dip next to him.
He was momentarily startled until he recognized Rafe’s face in the pale morning light.
“John? What are you doing here?” Harry tried to focus on the clock. “What time is it?
“It’s early Harold. I couldn’t sleep.”
Harry folded back the covers and moved closer to the wall giving Rafe room to lie beside him. Rafe understood without words being spoken, standing to slip off his shoes and pants before sliding into the bed. Harry mentally tempered down the wave of desire that overtook him just watching Rafe’s beauty in motion with that one swift movement. The only thing Harry couldn’t control was the heavy thumping of his heart. Rafe seemed to find something soothing in listening to it though.
Harry had noticed the slip of the tongue he’d made calling Rafe - John, but couldn’t keep himself from whispering the name again while he let his fingers ghost over the undershirt stretched across Rafe's back, “Neither could I, John.”
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Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five
Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Epilogue