Chapter 8 - Salad Days.

We’ve probably all heard the parable of the boiling frog, right? The premise of the story goes that, if you place a frog in a pot of boiling water it will immediately react by jumping out and saving itself, but if, instead, you put a frog in a pot of tepid water and then slowly turn up the heat, it won’t realize how much danger it’s in till it’s too late. The slowly simmering frog will keep swimming around in the pot until it boils to death.

The analogy works the same for people too. We are usually so focused on getting through the day to day stuff, the everyday annoyances of regular life, that we often don’t stop to see the bigger picture. If you’re not paying attention, you might just brush off more gradual changes in behavior or relationships, not even seeing them for the warning signs they are. And, before you know it, the person you thought was a loving, caring, ‘soul mate’, has turned into someone who’s a controlling, manipulative abuser.

Admittedly, I hadn’t kissed many frogs myself, but then again, I’d started off by landing a Prince right off the bat. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t prepared to deal with the frog - boiling or otherwise. But it’s true. No matter how crass Brian could be, he was never anything other than honest and straightforward with me. He never promised me anything that he wasn’t prepared to follow through on. And he DID show me how much he cared by way of his actions, even at the same time as he refused to give me the words I begged for. And, no, Brian wasn’t perfect - he was FAR from perfect - but isn’t that normal for human beings? Nobody’s perfect. Not real people, at least.

So why wasn’t I more suspicious when I seemingly met someone that SEEMED perfect? Because that should have sent up warning signs, right? If someone seems perfect, they must be hiding something. There’s no such thing as a perfect lover - not in reality. We all have our faults and our foibles. Anyone that tries to hide those faults from you should be automatically suspect, right?

But I guess, in this story, I was the frog not the princess. I thought I’d stumbled on the perfect man for me. Ethan had swept me off my feet, professing love almost from day one, and I’d bought it. After which I blindly brushed aside and overlooked all the tiny inconsistencies, seeing only the perfect image he was trying to project. I didn’t want to see those imperfections. I WANTED my perfect prince. After being showered with flattery and attention, I didn’t want to admit that I could possibly have made a mistake by leaving Brian for Ethan. So I intentionally DIDN’T look at the cracks in the facade.

And the little changes were exceptionally easy to overlook, too. The professions of love gradually cooled, but that was normal in any relationship, right? The hardships of financial worry set in, but everyone goes through rough patches and we’d get over that.

The little arguments that every couple faces weren’t all that worrisome, even if Ethan’s reactions sometimes seemed a little overboard. And he’d always apologize profusely afterwards and we’d make up.

Unfortunately, it eventually became apparent that my life wasn’t a fairytale, it was a horror story, but while the temperature in my pot kept rising, I was happily oblivious.

Every couple argues occasionally, right? I knew that. Hell, Brian and I’d had some absolute blowouts over the years. That’s a normal part of every relationship. So I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that, what with all the stress of me moving into Ethan’s apartment, we would have our first little tiff the very next morning. What did surprise me, though, was how quickly things blew up.

After my breakdown the night before, I woke up early on Sunday morning. Like the eternal optimist I used to be, I just wanted to put it all behind me and move on with my life. And my first order of business was to unpack and arrange all my belongings so I could finally settle in to my new living arrangements. This was problematic, however, because in Ethan’s tiny, hole-in-the-wall garrett, there wasn’t much space, even for the meager pile of my few worldly goods. However I did my best with what there was, as was my way.

Ethan seemed to have a ton of clothes - even though all of them looked like they were purchased at second-hand shops - and his drawers were packed. I figured I could talk to him later about going through them and thinning out his wardrobe a bit so we had more room. This hadn’t ever been a problem with Brian, who refused to wear anything that was ‘last season’ and was constantly editing his clothing to remove anything that was the least bit worn, frayed or faded.

But in the meantime, as Ethan continued to snore quietly in bed, I went ahead and cleared out one drawer of his bureau, refolding his clothing, and managing to somehow fit his stuff into the three remaining drawers. It was a tight fit, but doable, and it gave me one whole drawer for my drawers. The closet was even more difficult as, not only wasn’t there any room in the tiny space, but there wasn’t a single unused hanger. I didn’t need much room, though, seeing as I only had about five dressier items that needed hanging. So I pulled a couple of Ethan’s bulky coats out of the closet and double hung all my clothing on the two empty hangers. I figured we could just hang our jackets on the hooks by the door for the time being.

Once my clothing had been stowed away, I looked around to find a storage solution for my art stuff. Ethan didn’t have a desk or anything, but there were some makeshift shelves he’d fashioned out of old broken down packing crates and cinder blocks. I shifted around some of the knick-knacks on the shelves, enough to make a space for my neatly stacked art supplies and school books. I didn’t know what to do with my larger drawing pads and stacks of loose drawings, though. I didn’t want to leave my drawings out in the open where they’d be more likely to fade or get damaged, but the one cupboard with drawers seemed stuffed to the gills with Ethan’s sheet music, music books, and supplies for his violin.

I was just in the process of trying to organize some of this, so as to make room in one of the drawers for my artwork, when Ethan woke up.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he growled at me, jumping up out of bed and literally leaping across the room to pull a stack of sheet music out of my hands.

“I was just trying to straighten stuff up a little so there’d be room for my drawings.”

“I hate it when people touch my stuff. I’ve got my music sorted exactly the way I need it; if you mess with it, I won’t be able to find anything,” Ethan insisted, stuffing the disorganized sheaf of papers - some of which weren’t even aligned in the same direction, let alone being in any type of recognizable order - back into the drawer without even looking at it, and then glowering at me angrily.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to mess up your stuff,” I immediately apologized, a little taken aback by the strong reaction, but trying nonetheless to placate my new roommate. “I was just trying to put away my art supplies and clothes and crap. If you don’t want me to put my drawings in the cupboard, though, that’s fine. Just tell me where you want me to put it.”

Ethan was still looking at me belligerently, even though the scene was all kinds of ridiculous seeing as he was buck naked with his hair standing up on end. I didn’t think laughing at him would help matters much, though, so I bit my tongue. Meanwhile, Ethan looked around himself at the cramped little one-room apartment, apparently searching for some solution to my storage problem. Obviously, the pile of over-sized drawings in my hands wasn’t going to fit anywhere but in the cabinet where he also stored his music. But he didn’t seem willing to relent on that point.

“There’s no place to put all that shit,” Ethan decided with finality. “Can’t you just store it at school or maybe keep it in your portfolio?”

We both looked over at the large black leather portfolio case - a present from Brian on my first day at PIFA - which was lying open on the coffee table. “That would mean me having to lug all of my drawings with me everywhere I go, including back and forth to school everyday,” I tried to explain. “I usually only keep the stuff I’m working on for that day’s classes in my portfolio. The rest, I’d prefer to keep here, where it’s out of the way and safe.”

Ethan sighed and scrubbed at his face as if trying to wipe away the remaining cobwebs of sleep. “I don’t know, Justin. There’s just not a lot of room for this shit. But . . . You know, I can’t deal with this kinda crap first thing in the morning.” He looked over at the small alarm clock on the milk crate that served as a nightstand and groaned. “Shit. I’ve got orchestra rehearsal with Sanders in twenty minutes. If I don’t book it now, I’ll be late.” He turned and started pulling on clothing and gathering up his music stuff like a goatee’d whirlwind. “We’ll . . . we’ll figure something out about all your shit later. Just, please, don’t touch my music in the meantime. Okay?”

I was getting a little annoyed at the way he was calling my artwork ‘shit’ over and over. As a fellow artist, Ethan should have more respect for my creative output, right? How could he expect me to haul all my finished work around with me everywhere I go? Not only would that be a literal pain, but the risk of my art being damaged or destroyed while I was carting around all my creations, would go up exponentially. How did he not see that?

But, as irritated as I was, it didn’t seem like the time to bring these issues up. Ethan was already mostly dressed and pulling on his coat while babbling about whatever his plans were for the day. All I had time to do was set aside my pile of drawings on the table before he trotted over - almost tripping over Wolfram in the process - taking my face in both hands, and giving me a long, deep, possessive kiss. Then he gathered up his violin - ‘Misha’ - and was out the door without another thought.

“So, what should we do now, Wolfram?” I asked the cat who jumped into my lap for a cuddle as soon as I sat down.

I was at a loss for how to spend the rest of my day. Normally, I would be at work by now, having always worked the Sunday Brunch shift - one of the most lucrative of the week - but since I’d thoughtlessly quit my job, I didn’t have any plans. Ethan didn’t want me to mess with his stuff, so I couldn’t finish putting my possessions away. It also didn’t make sense to go get the rest of my stuff from Brian’s until I knew there would be someplace to put it all. I had a couple of assignments for school I could work on, but nothing pressing. So, there I was with the whole day free, but no plans and no money. Not how I had expected to spend my day.

Just when I was starting to get totally stressed out about what a mess I’d made of things, I was interrupted by the buzzing of my phone. A quick glance at the screen showed that it was my mother calling. I groaned. I had been hoping to put off talking to her for a few more days, at least until I had figured things out a bit more. But, seeing as I had nothing to do and no excuse NOT to talk to her, I tapped the icon on the screen to accept the call.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Justin. How ARE you? I just talked to Debbie . . .”

I groaned, realizing this call was going to be even worse than I’d anticipated. “I’m fine, Mom. Really.”

“She said you and Brian broke up? And you’ve moved in with some other boy? AND you quit your job? That doesn’t sound ‘fine’ to me, Justin!”

“I thought you, of all people, would be happy to hear that Brian and I broke up,” I accused. “You never liked him.”

“That’s not true, Justin. I admit I never really understood him, or your attraction to someone like that, but Brian did a lot for you after the Prom Incident, and I have to give him credit for stepping up back then. I’ve come to respect him since then. So what happened? You didn’t say anything on Friday night at the Rage party. Tell me what’s going on, Honey.”

I sighed and sank back against the threadbare upholstery of the old couch. “It’s a long story, Mom.”

“Well, Mothers like long stories,” she insisted, and I could hear the determination in her voice, meaning that I wasn’t going to be able to escape without giving her all the details. “How about I come pick you up and take you out to lunch and you can enlighten me?”

I looked down at Wolfram, hoping that he’d offer some viable alternative, but the cat only purred at me. “Sure, Mom. Sounds good. But not the Diner, okay?”

A half hour later I was sitting in a little cafe just off the PIFA campus with my mother. Which was good, actually, because I was starving and Ethan didn’t have any real food in the apartment. But the price of my meal was having to explain to my Mom all about the break up with Brian. Thankfully, Debbie had already given her the basics so I only had to fill in the gaps, which I tried to do as succinctly as possible.

“Brian and I have been having some problems for a while now, Mom,” I explained. “I don’t want to get into it all, but suffice it to say, I just couldn’t put up with his casual approach to relationships any more.” That was technically correct and still vague enough not to be embarrassing, I thought. “And things sorta came to a head at the Rage party the other night. So, when Ethan showed up and offered me a better alternative, I just . . . I just want more than Brian was willing to offer, you know?”

Mom placed her hand on my forearm in one of those wordless motherly gestures of empathy and smiled sadly at me.

“It doesn’t matter, though, because I’m with Ethan now,” I declared with finality.

“Well, if you’re sure,” Mom responded, sounding unconvinced but trying to be supportive. “It’s just that all this seems so sudden, Justin. I’d never even heard of this new boy and now you’re living with him? And you’ve quit your job? Do you have something else lined up? Isn’t that a little bit reckless? From what Debbie said, it doesn’t sound like this new boyfriend will be able to help support you the way Brian did - aren’t you going to need that job?”

I’m not sure how to begin responding to the bombardment of questions, but luckily we’re interrupted right then by the appearance of the ‘New Boyfriend’ himself.

“Hey, Baby. I thought that was you,” Ethan gushed, leaning in through doorway of the cafe to smile at me and my mother. When I returned his smile, he took it as an invitation to join us. “I was on my way home from rehearsal and I saw you through the window. I didn’t think I’d run into you here.”

“My mother called and offered to take me to brunch, so here we are,” I explained briefly, wondering how he’d managed to track me down here at this out of the way place. “Ethan, this is my mother, Jennifer Taylor. Mom, this is Ethan Gold,” I made the introductions, noting the way Ethan turned his charm on my mother as soon as I announced the connection between us. “Ethan is a violinist in the Performing Arts Program at PIFA.”

“It’s nice to meet the mother of my favorite artist,” Ethan intoned, giving my Mom’s hand a special little squeeze before releasing it.

“Well! It’s lovely to meet you too, Ethan. Justin was just telling me all about you,” my WASPish mother replied politely, even though I hadn’t really said anything at all about him yet. “Would you like to join us for breakfast, Ethan? We’ve only just ordered ourselves.”

“That would be great. I’m famished. I had to run off to rehearsal this morning without breakfast.”

“Rehearsal?” Mother asked, again with the politeness.

“Yeah, I’m first seat violin with the PIFA Philharmonic Orchestra and we have a performance tonight. We’re doing a Tchaikovsky program. It’s not that complicated - I could play those pieces in my sleep - but the wind section can’t seem to figure it out for some reason. That’s woodwinds for you, right? I think it has something to do with all the hot air they blow all the time.”

Ethan and my mother chuckled together over this little joke like old friends. I just sat back and watched while the two of them bonded like there was no tomorrow. Ethan seemed to be laying it on extra thick - complimenting my mother as well as me to an extent that was almost embarrassing. I mean, it was one thing to have him telling ME how beautiful I am, but it felt kinda hinky to have him saying those things about me to my mother. Mom definitely liked it though. She was smiling at him and doing that thing where she touched his arm in an almost flirty way. Hell, I felt almost like I wasn’t needed at the table, what with the way those two hit it off right from the start. Thankfully, I was able to hide my disquiet by focusing on my breakfast while they talked about and around me for the next twenty minutes or so.

“Well, sorry to eat and run like this,” Ethan said the minute he’d finished his Spanish omelet, “but I have to get going. I need to work on my competition piece this afternoon.”

“Competition?” Mom looked over at me questioningly.

“Ethan is a finalist in the Heiffitz Competition,” I explain.

“Wow, that sounds impressive. You sound like a musical genius.”

“You wouldn’t be the first to say that.” Ethan was always agreeable when his talent was being discussed. “But I like to think I inherited it from my Grandfather.”

“He was in a concentration camp,” I interject, just so I could be part of the conversation for a change, but all I got for my efforts was confused looks from both my mother and Ethan.

“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry . . .” Mom started to apologize.

“It’s okay. Luckily, he survived, and he taught me how to play,” Ethan elaborated with a condescending look my way before he turned his attention back to mom with a smile. “I’m also fortunate to have had parents who paid for all those lessons.” Then he turned to look at me again, almost as if he’d momentarily forgotten I was there, and added, “even though they didn’t have much money.”

“Well, how nice to hear someone praising their parents for a change,” my mother commented with a critical smile aimed my way.

“I say nice things about you all the time, Mom,” I objected, receiving a disbelieving look from the parent in question. “You’re just not around to hear it.”

“Well, anyways, I gotta go. Even us geniuses gotta practice if we’re going to win the Heiffitz, right?” Ethan pushed back his chair and bent to pick up his instrument and his bag.

“Good luck. I hope you win,” my mother offered genially.

“Me too. Although, just between you and me, I think it’s in the bag,” Ethan asserted with a conspiratorial wink. Then he reached out a hand again, “it was so nice to meet you, Mrs. Taylor.”

My mother accepted his hand and then, when Ethan leaned in to kiss her cheek deferentially, she actually giggled like a girl. “My pleasure,” Mom replied.

“Thanks again for lunch.” Ethan then turned to me, almost as if I was an afterthought. “And you,” he leaned in to kiss me ostentatiously, despite my mother being present, “I’ll see you at home.”

“Yeah,” I answered, not sure how I was supposed to respond in a situation like this, seeing as I’d never actually kissed another man in front of my mother before.

Ethan didn’t seem to notice my awkwardness, though, and he bustled out of the cafe without looking back. When I looked over at my mother - worried that she’d be echoing my unease - she was practically beaming at me. Not what I’d expected, at all.

“Well . . .” she chuckled. “He seems like an accomplished young man.”

Ethan had obviously won over the mother in law. “Don’t leave out ‘cute’,” I suggested with my own smug grin.

“Very . . .  cute, that is,” Mom agreed with me. But then she had to ruin our moment of rapport by adding, “and certainly more appropriate for you than Brian. Not that I have anything against Brian. If it hadn’t been for him, I don’t know what either one of us would have done . . .”

“Do you mind if we don’t talk about him?” I checked her halting recriminations, still not comfortable hearing anyone other than myself criticizing my Ex. “I’m with Ethan now and that’s all that matters.”

“Of course,” Mom agreed with me but, of course, she couldn’t just leave it there. “However, we probably DO need to discuss what you’re going to do about your finances, Justin. I’m worried about you quitting your job. You shouldn’t let Brian chase you away from the Diner just because you broke up. You’re going to need that income.” Then she grabbed hold of my hand in that concerned motherly way and looked me in the eyes. “I can help you out a bit, at least for a while, but things are still tight and your father is behind with child support again . . .”

“Save your money, Mom. You need to take care of you and Molly,” I insist, giving her hand a squeeze before withdrawing from her. “I’ll be fine. I’m sure I can find another job.”

“I hope so, Honey. But what about PIFA? Wasn’t Brian helping you with that?”

And what was I supposed to say to that inquiry? I hadn’t actually thought about that aspect of this mess yet. Without Brian, there was no way I would be able to pay for school next term. Fuck . . .

“I’ll . . . I’ll figure something out, I guess,” I tried to reassure her, putting on my ‘brave’ face even though I felt nothing like brave. “I’ve got a couple months. I’m sure something will turn up. And I can talk to the financial aid office at school, maybe, too.”

“Okay. I hope it works out, Honey. But if you need my help, please let me know.”

And that’s how we left things for the time being. Mom insisted on dropping me off back at Ethan’s apartment, just to see where I was living. I could tell she wasn’t impressed with the accommodations, but she didn’t say anything. Granted, Ethan’s place was a huge step down from Brian’s spacious and tastefully appointed loft. After her previously effusive praise of my new love interest, though, Mom at least had the good grace not to complain about the tacky little studio where I was now living. I mean, what did she expect; if she wanted me to be with the more ‘appropriate’ boyfriend - meaning a kid my own age - she had to expect similar adjustments to my living arrangements.

Ethan, whose practicing had been interrupted when Mom and I entered, paused only long enough to shoot an exasperated look my way and then turned his back so he could ignore us while he continued playing. I shrugged at Mom. Oh well, it’s not like I needed to give her a long tour or anything - she could see the entire one-room studio from the doorway, for fuck’s sake. Being a good little WASP, though, Mom took the hint, kissed me goodbye without saying anything more, and then was gone.

After Mom left, I promptly sat down at the kitchen table, pulled out my phone and used it to start on my job search. My options were limited not only by my school schedule and my transportation limitations, but also by the fact that the only prior job experience I had was working part time at the Diner. This was not going to be easy. Not having a real computer made it even more difficult - I couldn’t really prepare a resume using only my phone - but I managed a few online applications that didn’t require any additional paperwork and made a mental note to set aside time to use the computer lab at school the following afternoon.

“Argh!” I heard a particularly ear-splitting screech from the fiddle player in the corner of the room and looked up to find Ethan glaring at me. “You know, it’s not easy to concentrate with you sighing and grumbling under your breath every ten seconds,” he complained.

“Sorry. I’m just frustrated by trying to find another job. There’s not a ton out there,” I explained, looking up at him with what I’m sure was a hopeless expression.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you; I may have found you something. Something that’s way better than that greasy spoon Diner you used to slave away at,” Ethan brags with a superior smile. “My buddy, Jeff - he’s second chair oboe in the orchestra - told me the catering service that has the contract at Carnegie Hall is looking for people. Jeff works there sometimes as a bartender, but he can’t work tonight, of course, because we’ll be performing. He said to bring you along tonight and he’ll introduce you to Luke, the manager. So, problem solved, right?”

“Catering service? What does that entail?”

“They’re the ones who sell concessions - you know, wine, beer, coffee and stuff - before the show and during intermission. They also do all the special events that are booked at the hall. Jeff says the money kinda sucks but the work is easy. It’s mostly evenings and weekends so it won’t interfere with school. And I’m sure it’s a lot less of a slog than that nasty greasy spoon you were working at. Just think about all those rich old men and women; I’m sure, with a little judicious flirting, you’ll be able to totally score in the tips department. Plus, the best part is, you’ll be able to see me when I’m playing there.”

The few times I’d been to the kind of events Ethan was talking about, and seen the catering people, I thought their job looked pretty stressful. They were mobbed by a swarm of stuffy concert goers at intermission, all of whom were in a rush and not very polite. Maybe I was wrong and the concert set was great to work for, though. What the fuck did I know? I probably wouldn’t ever find another casual, amusing, and flexible job like the Diner, no matter how long I looked. And it wasn’t like I had a ton of other options right then.

“Okay. I guess I can try that for a while. Thanks, Ethan,” I accepted the proffered job tip with a bit of a forced smile.

“Didn’t I say I was going to take care of you, Baby?” Ethan smiled down on me with a self-satisfied air. “Now, I really need to finish practicing. I have to get through this piece at least one more time, then I can stop and get ready for my concert tonight. And, if you’re a good little boy and don’t interrupt me again, I’ll probably have time to make love to you before we leave. How does that sound?”

To be honest, it sounded a lot like when my mother used to tell me to sit still and be quiet when we were in church when I was a child . . . but I wasn’t going to tell my lover that. So, I picked up one of my school books and read quietly while Ethan plowed through a long and rather complicated piece of music. I could tell that the song was technically challenging, but it wasn’t very pleasant to listen to. I didn’t know anything about violin competitions, but if anyone had asked me, I would have advised them to pick something a little less jarring as their selection. But, whatever. Ethan and I were still too new for me to venture such an uneducated opinion. However, it did make it quite difficult for me to study while that caterwauling was going on in the background.

And when Ethan finished playing, he did make good on that offer to make love to me. Which was fine. I mean, after the day’s rocky start and the unsettling feelings caused by my foggy employment situation, I wasn’t exactly in the mood. Strange, huh? When had I ever not been in the mood for sex before? With Brian, all he had to do was look at me with that smoldering gaze of his and I was instantly hard.

The realization that I was again comparing Ethan to Brian, though, shocked me enough that I insistently tamped down whatever qualms I had. I needed to move on. I needed to stop comparing what I had then to what I’d had before with Brian. The best way to do that was to seize hold of the moment and go with it. Right?

So I let Ethan make love to me, and then we took a bath together and got ready to go to Carnegie Hall, where Ethan introduced me to my new boss while he went off to wow the audiences with his musical genius.

That was my new life. That’s what I had wanted, right? I’d finally got everything that I thought I needed . . .