Black and White - Chapter 5: Two to Tango.
Author's notes: Part four of the series.
Contains revelations, wishes, fantasy, and sappy crushing. As with my other stories, don't be afraid to show me some love. Exercise this with the usual rate-comment protocol. You know the drill. I send you all my thanks. Oh, there's no yiff yet, but there will surely be some in the future.
Everyone is encouraged to tell me what they want to see next. Please, please, please. Your input will be considered in writing the next bits.
Black and White - Chapter 5: Two to Tango.
I'd bribed him with my own secret. Only it was dissimulated. Part true, part made up. I told him "I wanted to be filthy rich," but the only veracious bit of this was the "I want" half, and not the filthy rich. I would like to think that he be[lie]ved.
Of course, the counterrevolutionary tactic he used was that he showed disinterest. It wasn't as though he wasn't interested. He just can't be arsed. Or so he said. It's been eating me out these past few days.
I'd nag him in class. I'd pretend to be really cool about it. My best friend isn't telling me what he had secretly wanted. Did he not wish at all? But oh, looking deep into his eyes, they twinkled like butterscotch. Gold, dreamy, at times wanting. He would smile at me, shrug his shoulders, and finally give me an "oh, I don't know if I should tell you."
And it was getting on my nerves. Because I told him a lie. Let's be practical. Everyone wants to be filthy rich. I do, too. But it's not really the top on my list. The more I looked into his eyes, trying to wring his words out of him, he would just purse his lips, and keep the secret desire that way - secret - and it was really getting on my nerves!
We were such great friends. And we are. We'd still sit next to one another, we'd eat lunch, and we'd frequent the ice cream parlor, and enjoy ourselves a long walk home. It's funny, really. We used to do this all the time, and we still do. But now things are different. I feel a sudden change.
A sudden change that was pre-empted by my wish, that was, to be with my best friend. Or to desire him, at the very least. It doesn't feel awkward. I didn't mind, I never did, but we'd walk home. My arm was on his shoulders. His around my waist. He'd smile as we brought each other home. Passing by his house first, and walking home by myself. I'd end up feeling empty, but I would like to think he'd see me off, if we didn't live so far away.
One day, Douglas just stopped coming to school. Okay, so maybe he still went. But he'd come around very sparsely. Sporadic as he was, we'd spend time together. I asked him if he'd be leaving me anytime soon, but he just gave me a thumbs-up sign. We used this to tell one another there's nothing to worry about.
It was on the second week after our encounter with Mr. Key that an entourage came to our school. There was a small Honda Jazz, really. And a handful of photographers. I know I didn't really wish to be filthy rich, but I felt like these people, my people, are to fetch me. Did I win a lottery I didn't sign up for? Maybe not. Or did I have an uncle who left me thousands and thousands of dollars to my name? I hope so!
I saw two suited Dobermans walk out of the car. It was Ms. Vale's math class that Douglas walked out of the room. Out the window, I saw him enter the car. And so he did. And they drove off. Four passengers, three unnamed. I only recognized Douglas Grove.
This weekend, I just had to figure out what my best friend was keeping from me. I'm going nuts, and I couldn't handle being friends with someone who hardly feels like one. He promised to come by my place. My doorbell rang exactly at twelve in the afternoon. In his paws, a doggybag. And two pints of peanut butter ice cream.
He had new Wayfarer Raybans, and he knew I wanted one of those. Those, too, were white. Like the thin shirt he wore. And he wore a thin pair of low-hanging pants. And white Airforce Nikes. I'd never be able to pull off an outfit like that.
Douglas made his way to the nearest table, set the goodies down. He came to me, greeting me with a kiss on my cheek, before he took off his Wayfarer, placed it on top of my forehead, and produced a new pair from his small belt bag. It was what I gave him last Christmas, because it was nice. And white.
"No kidding?" I popped the shades right over my muzzle. It fit me perfectly.
"No kidding." He laughed, and then pressed clipped his Wayfarer to the collar of his shirt.
It was too dark to wear them. We hung out by the basement. I didn't tell him my parents were at home. He always knew if they were there or not. He offered to bring all the goodies downstairs, while I got myself ready.
Downstairs wasn't all that. Sometimes, it got too hot. Sometimes, it got too cool. It was extremely humid, and it's one of those lazy Saturday afternoons. On my couch, he laid down our drinks. Orange juice for him, a Coke for me, and our pints.
Somehow, I knew. I knew what he wished for. I was just about to ask him when he began to pop his pint open. I stopped dead in his tracks.
We were alone. In an empty basement. He loved me. And as for me? Maybe I did. Maybe I do like him that way. The only affirmation I got was leaning in close without me knowing. I wanted to place my paws on him. And my muzzle on his chest. Just wow.
I could very well remember what happened when he first kissed me. I didn't kiss back. You don't kiss back someone you don't have feelings for, right? I hung on to the last thread of decency in me to tell him I was not like that. That it would be downright wrong to start kissing someone you're not in a relationship with. Even still, I suppose friends do not kiss, or at least are not supposed to. This was what he said. "I knew better. I shouldn't have. It's just a little crush. Not like I faint every time we touch. I'll get over it. I'll get the hint. Just give me some time, and I'll stop." He'd lifted those from some cheesy, sappy, song. But I think I made a point, and so did Douglas.
We were seated. I was passed my scoop. He said Tuesday's working extra days. Money was hard to come by. You don't have anyone to fend for you, sometimes. Just cruel, but it's a sad fact. Not to mention, recession. If it were easy to just pass on a new world order...
The verisimilitude of things? Well, I'm seated with my best friend. And he's talking about some girl. This must be how he felt when I'd talk about my secret crushes. Heck, he was talking about the Wayfarers, and I just wanted to crawl out of my skin. To leave him until he was done. And curl up in his arms. But I did not. I could not.
How could I, when tearing my eyes from him was so difficult? It was tough. Listening to his baritone voice, watching him pay me no mind. Just adorable. As adorable as it gets. He didn't explain to me what was happening. My birthday wasn't in a month, so why he was doing this was beyond me.
I began to speak. My voice booming here and there. My bass voice ruined his concentration, and he examined me a little.
"You're all over the page, man," he said casually, letting out a soft chuckle. "Slow down."
I figured he thought I had ADHD. When I opened my mouth, he nodded.
"You want an explanation?"
"I wanted to know why you weren't coming to school, and shit. I wanted to know what you were doing with those men. Oh, it's not my business who you spend your time with, but why do I feel as though you're avoiding me? I mean, if you didn't want to be friends, you could have cut it to the point. You didn't have to buy me things to compensate for that loss. Because nothing material can ever make me feel good about a ruined friendship. Ours, above all else. What are you smiling at? This is--"
"Isn't funny, I know. All you need is some ice cream, and it'll be better."
He gave me a scoop of peanut butter flavored ice cream. From his pint. Which was something that began to entreat the kindness out of my heart. I was no longer hard, but soft. And he smiled me his ten thousand megawatt smile.
By the time I swallowed, he began speaking.
"I got myself a job. Tut, before you start," he closed my maw with a pawfinger, and then continued, "it's a decent one, even if you wouldn't agree with it."
"Well, what is it?" I asked, popping the lid to my pint, and leaning in to give him a spoonful.
"Let's just say your best friend's going to go to Hollywood."
Our secrets shared, a revelation told. Two to tango.