Tom opened the cabinet in the drysink under the window, “Ah shit. Out of vodka.” He turned around and waved a bottle of Beefeater. “Should we switch to gin? At least it’s clear.” A repeating rumble of distant thunder reached his ears just as he raised the bottle, “Ah! The gods approve! Gin it is,” and with a flourish carried the now sacred bottle like a chalice into the kitchen, apparently amused with himself.

From the sofa Evan pulled himself up half way and started rummaging through the coffee table magazines. “No, thankyou. It’s not good with orange juice. Where’s the TV remote? We should check the weather for tomorrow. I don’t like that thunder. Does your power ever go out?” Evan felt easy for the moment now that they had a common purpose. There had been no glory day talk in their conversation, no mention at all of anyone or anything at school or since Evan left to return home to California. It was all about the now, the future, the market, the politics, but not the war either. For both of them that scar was too raw to be touched just yet.

“Come on!,” Tom pleaded,”Just one more. One more drink. We’re not driving anywhere else tonight and that pizza was god awful.” Another rumble, this one closer, punctuated his remark, “See? The gods agree!” Evan saw that Tom didn’t appear impaired in the slightest. Maybe he was used to drinking much more than this. If he was, he didn’t look it.

“Tom, where’s the remote. Just a quick weather update. It’ll be on in a minute. It’s almost 11:30 now.” Esquire, Architectural Digest, Advertising Age, more Advertising Age, Road & Track (‘an old man’s car magazine,’ Evan thought), Robb Report, Penthouse... ‘Penthouse? Still?’

“I can’t find it.”

Tom called over his shoulder as he made two more drinks with the Beefeater, “It’s in the drawer on the side table. The one with the ugly lamp.”

Opening the drawer Evan saw a picture frame facing away from the sofa and turned it around. It was of a woman he hadn’t seen before. She was blonde with fair features but too much makeup hid her beauty. Her blowup breasts fairly heaved out of her little black dress while her right hand fondled the heart-shaped diamond pendant around her neck. She smiled intently and sweetly. Instantly his heart went out to her. He had to know. “So who is this in the picture?”

“That’s Amelia,” Tom replied with so little inflection that he may as well have been announcing the time. “She’s a friend of mine. We met at a commercial shoot. She’s an art director for Saatchi.” He handed Evan the drink but hadn’t taken his eyes off of Evan’s face as he crossed from the bar back to his chair. “We’re seeing each other. Here. Cheers! Let’s get good and wasted for tomorrow.” For as jovial as his voice sounded, his face wasn’t, turning hard and reluctant.

Evan sat up more and swung his feet onto the floor and put his drink on the table, “You think that’s a good idea? Seeing Amelia, I mean.” He tried to sound neutral, relaxed.

Tom paused his sipping for a second and talked into his tumbler, “It’s a great idea. She’s attractive and smart. I really like her.” His voice wasn’t as steady as before.

“Tom... she’s--- did you give her the necklace?” Evan just kept staring into frame at the woman clearly in love with whomever was behind the camera.

A quick sip and Tom put his drink on the table and sat upright on the edge of the seat cushion. His chest broadening, “I did. It’s from Tiffany’s. We picked it out together. Don’t you like it?” Moody as Tom could be, Evan was surprised at the sudden firmness of his tone. He replaced the picture on the table, this time with Amelia facing Tom directly. He felt sorry for her, and for Tom.

Their silence was broken by another drum roll from the sky and Evan stood up and started walking into his room. “I’m taking a shower before your lights go out.”

“Better hurry there Ganymede,” his voice inflected with sarcasm, “If Zeus declares the power shall no more then we lose water too. We’re on a well pump.”

Evan pretended not to hear Tom’s comment as he closed the door to undress and get his toiletries. There was no silence to ponder the awkwardness of the situation. The rain was pouring onto the little cabin in great sheets and Evan could see the black droplets coming in through the screen. He closed the window and wrapped the largest towel he could find around his waist but his thoughts wandered back to Tom and Amelia and he found himself frowning as he stepped into the living room again.

Tom was laying on the couch with a new drink holding Amelia’s picture. From the corner of his eye he could see Evan’s half naked body in the door frame and felt Evan’s eyes on him. He stayed focused on Amelia.

“Anything weird about the plumbing I should know?,” Evan asked as he crossed the living room into the bathroom. He paused. “You do have hot water right?”

Tom raised his head and talked to the wall, “No. Just shower. It’s normal. This isn’t Green Acres here... I’m not that poor.,” he added bitterly. Again Tom felt that Evan’s eyes had never left him and he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of looking back now.

The tap ran hot almost immediately and Evan closed his eyes, drenching himself under the shower head. His arms and back relaxed as he let the water, too much water, cascade over his head. As he tried to calm his mind a sudden clap of thunder in the distance reminded him he had to keep this short. ‘Make peace,’ he thought, “This is a fucking awesome shower head! Where did you get it?,” he called out over the glass door.

Tom replied loudly, “Grabbed it from an old Y before they tore it down. I’d been going there and the wreckers were going to toss them out as they don’t meet code so I gave a guy a fifty to not see me swipe it.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Tom knew what Evan was thinking. He stood up, still carrying Amelia’s photograph and walked over to the bathroom door, speaking through it, “We’re thinking of getting married you know. Amelia and I.”

Evan’s heart sank, almost as much for Amelia as for Tom. “Have you asked her yet?” He soaped himself furiously thinking of the future of yet another marriage. Tom couldn’t do this. He’d wreck his life entirely. If he thought he was fucked now, wait until he tries this charade again. Yet who was he, Evan Ackerman, to save a lost soul like Tom? ‘It’s true we know each other, it’s true -- “ Tom’s voice came through the door again, “Yes, and she agreed. So you see--”

Evan stopped listening at that. His mind kept repeating, ‘we know each other, we know each other,’ “Tom,” he called through the gallons pouring over him that now were of no more interest to him than the ability to wash the suds out of his eyes, “Tom, we know each other. You can’t do that again. You can’t do it to yourself and you can’t do it to her. You’ll hate yourself the rest of your life.”

The voice through the door was loud and barren, startling Evan in its ferocity. “NO! I thought I knew you and you turned around and betrayed me! YOU Evan, YOU betrayed me and I will never trust you like that again. Go fuck yourself.” Tom drained his drink and took a step over to the counter to put down the glass. He wasn’t nearly as numb as he needed to be right now. He didn’t hear anything on the other side of the door save the shower and the splashes of water off of Evan’s body.

Evan’s body. He thought of Evan, he thought of the week before graduation after that lame faculty party. Tom couldn’t block it now if he wanted to. Evan, whom he held to be his best friend, the one man he could call and tell anything to, Evan. He lost Evan that night. Coming back to the apartment they were too stoned to care and minutes later in their room, ‘“Wanna watch a porno?... No, it’s OK, I’ve seen it before... Let’s do each other, is that cool?... Oh fuck Evan, let me suck you too... I want to try it... Don’t go tomorrow...” The words played back to scenes from a silent film; images of Evan on his knees, of Evan’s coppery bush and his long shaft bathed in the red light from the neon sign out front as he tasted Evan for the first time; tasted him. That instant, that moment, could not be. Tom would not allow it, Tom’s world would not allow it. If there was any weakness a man could have, it wasn’t this one and as he found himself saying that over and over again. It wasn’t going to happen again, ‘Evan can’t be here. He can’t say those words, he can’t make make me feel that again.’

For a split second Evan imagined lightning had struck the house as he finished rinsing; trying to comprehend Tom’s mumbles through the water but as he grabbed for the towel over the shower door to clear his eyes he realized that Tom had come through the door, his shoulder slamming the door open against the jamb, splintering the wood.

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE YOU FUCKING FAGGOT. NOW!” Tom flung the glass door open and pulled Evan out of the shower. Evan shouted, “Get off me! Tom! Stop it! STOP IT!,” as he pushed Tom’s arm away from him. Tom reached around Evan’s other arm but he was too slippery and he couldn’t get a grasp. While Evan shouted, “Tom! Stop it!,” and pushed Tom hard against the vanity causing the toiletries to tumble from the shelf.