by Albert L?Etoile

I saw Scott for the first time a couple years ago. He was the boyfriend of an acquaintance of mine, Rob, and I saw no reason to pursue my attraction to him. They appeared pretty happy and I?m no home wrecker. (I ain?t no home wrecka?, Blanche!) Both Scott and Rob disappeared shortly thereafter (as many people do in such a transient area as Cape Cod). I could not help but ask for Scott when I ran into Rob a year or so later. I don?t recall the specifics of the conversation, yet I remember inquiring about Scott.

Fast forward to last spring?April or May of 2000 I had just purchased a PC and spent most of my free time in Chat Rooms, specifically chat rooms for gay men. One day I was checking out individual profiles. As soon as I saw the image of the handsome blonde man, I realized it was Scott. At that time I attempted to start a conversation. I said ?Hi? and explained that I recognized him from his days with Rob (I did not even recall Rob?s name at the time). Scott?s interest in the conversation and his response did not go much beyond ?Oh?? Over the next five months, I watched Scott talk to other men, re-read his profile several times and watched his picture change from time to time. Every time I entered a chat room and saw Scott, I would say ?Hi,? to which he would respond, ?Hi.?

Me < How are you?

Scott < Good

End of conversation.

And so it was for the next five months, the conversation never went any further. You have to understand, though I had definite interest in Scott, I was not really in pursuit of him. The chances of us meeting where next to none (based on Scott?s obvious disinterest). His profile stated he found men of ?Mediterranean? decent appealing. I had never thought of myself in those terms. Dark hair and eyes ?floated his boat? so to speak, and I fit the bill.

Driving home from Providence, RI (following the failure of a blind date), I had decided to catch last call at a club along the way. It was a place my friend David and I had visited on a regular basis when he was ?unattached? and before he became the ?Dr.?s Wife.? It was a bit of a distance from my home base, but I was in the area, and decided to drop in. It was late and the crowd had thinned out. The night was pretty uneventful (as my ?Clubbing Experiences? usually are). I?m a wallflower by trade and this night was no different. I was far enough away from home so none of the others seemed familiar, except for Scott, who I spotted 20 feet away. I looked at him every chance I could but felt I had done a pretty good job of doing so undetected. I never got the nerve up to approach him, the night ended, and I started the hour and one-half trek home. The next day I was on the computer, in the chat room.

Me < Hi

Scott < Hi

Me < How did you enjoy the club last night?

Scott < You were there?

Me < Yes

Scott < Don?t tell me you were the guy wear- ing the red shirt and ball cap?

As he revealed further on in the conversation, Scott had also been watching me that night.

We both have some level of expertise in ?staring with discretion.? The conversation continued over the computer lines for quite awhile until Scott finally confronted that which was on both our minds.

Scott < What are your plans for tonight?

Me < I guess I?m going to Randolph

I was referring to the club we had both been to the night before.

Scott < That?s quite a distance.

Me < It?s about 1? hours, not too bad. The club in Hyannis isn?t much fun when you?re alone and I?m not in the mood for the crazi- ness of Ptown.

Besides, Provincetown was an hour drive as well, and it was true, I wasn?t in the mood for the craziness that can be part of the nightlife in Ptown.

Scott < Well, I could be easily convinced to come down to Hyannis tonight.

Me < Cool!

The only time I ever used the word ?cool? was in the chat rooms. Maybe we all revert to our adolescence when we chat online. It must have been around 4-5:00 pm when we firmed up our plans to meet at the only gay bar in Hyannis. Club 477 was not a great place and usually wasn?t very well attended but, as they say, ?Any port in a storm.? Scott and I would meet at 10:30 pm that evening.

My friend David dropped by at about 7:30 p.m. I hadn?t seen much of him lately, since he had met Richard and moved into a studio apartment on the south end of Boston. When he did live on the Cape, quite often he would drop by or call and ask if I would go to dinner with him. I usually did. I had already had dinner and agreed to keep him company, sip on some coffee while he ate the usual prime rib, baked potato with out sour cream and a coke. The dinner conversation centered mainly on he and Richard but I did manage to express my excitement over my date later that evening. I made the unfortunate mistake of mentioning the time and location, I should have known better. After David finished his beef, we headed to a local convenience store to make copies of an insurance policy David held. Time seemed to get away from us and it was 10:10 p.m., 20 minutes before my date with Scott and I had yet to shower, shave and iron my clothes. I managed to complete all of the aforementioned in record time and was at Club 477, leaning against the bar, bottle in had with 2 ? minutes to spare.

I waited.

And waited.

I Got change for a dollar, fed the quarters to the pool table and pushed the balls around until they all had been swallowed. The game never really excited me but the smooth, hard sounds of the game did.

Now out of change, I returned to the counter and traded my empty bottle, plus $3, for a full one. Scott?s large frame filled the doorway as he paused there, perhaps to locate me in the dark room. A smile divided his face as he approached me. He held his hand out to be shaken. I ignored the gesture and reached around him creating our first hug. I felt him tense, only momentarily, before he relaxed and hugged me back. I learned later on how surprised Scott was by my affection. I ordered him a drink and we explored the usual small talk.

?How was the ride??

?Fine.?

?Were my directions ok??

?Yes, I?ve been here before. Was I very late??

?No, not at all.? I lied.

Well, he was late, just not VERY late.

The conversation entered its first lull. We both looked around the bar hoping to be inspired with a new topic of conversation.

It didn?t happen.

We each shifted our posture at the bar and exchanged uncomfortable smiles.

?Wanna go downstairs?? Maybe the new surroundings would provide the much needed catalyst for conversation.

We decided to continue through the small bar and escape to the patio. I was relieved to see that Scott smoked and when he placed a cigarette in his mouth I followed suit. He lit his own and then mine. My date was considerate and as handsome in person as on my computer monitor. I don?t know if it was the cigarette or the change of scenery but the conversation seemed easier. I don?t recall the specifics of the conversation. I do remember feeling more at ease, at ease enough to respond to his inquiries with some intelligence and his wit with laughter or at least a smile. His appearance was captivating to me. Scott had strong features, bristly blond hair, broad chest and shoulders. The reddish hair that surrounded his lips accentuated his smile. His demeanor was masculine but not overpowering. Scott wasn?t trying to prove anything to anyone, he just was who he was, and I already liked who he was.

I had my back to a window and it startled me as it screeched open unexpectedly. The bartender handed me a full bottle of beer and motioned to a figure inside the bar.

?That?s from him,? and he retreated from the window as fast as he had appeared. I fumbled with the ? filled beer I was drinking, the cigarette in my hand and the new bottle from the stranger. Scott helped me out by taking my newest acquisition and placing it on the uneven patio table next to us. I looked into the bar room through the same window that had given me the beer. My eyes focused slowly?the stranger waved sheepishly?dark hair, small frame.

It was no stranger.

It was David.

?It?s my friend David.? I explained further to Scott?resisting going in to see David but the guilt was overwhelming. ?I guess I should at least go say ?Hi,? sorry.?

?No problem.? Scott followed me inside where my friend waited.

David took over the conversation for a good part of the rest of the evening. Scott very politely responded to David?s questions though my friend tended to talk more about himself when first meeting someone. My date made David feel comfortable, acknowledging everything he said with the perfect response. It was as I feared, David was well on his way to monopolizing the evening with his continuous chatter.

?Yes, Al and I have known each other for, God, How Long Al?? David was one of the few people I allowed to call me Al.

?23 years.? He always asked me that question in this type of situation. The response changed from year to year. ?23 years.?

Scott and I attempted to excuse ourselves and change locations within the bar several times, to which David followed.

?23 years.?

David didn?t even smoke, in fact, he hated smokers (not literally) but the safety of the outside smoking area proved to be ineffective against the unnatural power of the friend that wouldn?t leave.

?23 years.?

Finally, after David had followed us upstairs to the dance area, he became involved in a conversation with a relatively attractive man with frosted hair and a pock marked faced. Scott and I watched the dance floor while discretely planning our escape. David came up for air, leaned in my direction and briefly explained that he had an encounter with the pock marked man almost a year ago. The two had noticed each other while driving down the highway. The attraction appeared to be mutual and after about 30 minutes in slow moving traffic, they decided to pull off the main thru-way and have lunch. David had not seen him since. My friend appeared to be enjoying the attention and was distracted enough for the two of us to make our getaway.

Scott and I returned to the patio off the back of the bar and lit cigarettes?an unconscious attempt at recapturing our evening?alone in a crowd?before David?s intrusion. The patio was much more crowded now but our conversation helped to isolate us from the others.

?Would you like to get some breakfast?? Scott leaned in my direction to speak as he extinguished the cigarette in a nearby ashtray.

?Sure.? It would be nice to talk someplace quieter, ?where would you like to go??

?I dunno, you know the area better than I do, just someplace quieter. It?d give us a chance to talk a little.?

He read my mind.

We discussed the options, of which there were very few. There was an IHOP down the street, but it was definitely an ?After-The-Bar? crowd, on the rowdy side. Both Scott and I decided that was not what we had in mind. I mentioned a couple more places, neither which met with Scott?s approval. Going to my house had occurred to me the moment Scott had mentioned getting some breakfast, but I was afraid to suggest it, afraid he would think me too forward, afraid of his rejection. Besides, I didn?t think I had anything ?breakfasty? but coffee at home. I really needed to go food shopping.

?All I?d really like to get is some coffee.?

He read my mind again

?Just so I?m wide-awake for the ride home. Is there anywhere we can just get a cup of coffee??

Should I??

?I?? I knew I was going to regret it, I decided to retreat, Albie the Chicken-Hearted.

?I?don?t really know.?

The lights had come up and it was time for everyone to leave, alone or coupled. Scott and I were going to continue our conversation elsewhere, just where was still undecided. We headed upstairs to the disco to say goodnight to David, if he was still there, and he was, still talking to the guy from the traffic jam.

??Night, David.?

??Night Al, Nice meetin? you?,? he hesitated. Had he forgotten Scott?s name?

?Nice meeting you too, David.? Scott interrupted, perhaps to save David some embarrassment.

We headed outside to the cars?final destination still undetermined. Scott stopped and motioned towards the right side of the parking lot, ?I?m over here.?

?Oh,? I was eager to clarify our plans ?do you wanna take two cars?? Scott didn?t really want to leave his car in the empty parking lot of the club, understandably. ?Where are we going?? I was full of questions.

?I dunno, I just want a cup of coffee.? Cars moved passed us, the lot was emptying fast. It occurred to me that I hadn?t noticed David leave.

?Well, if all you want is coffee, I can make some at home...ah...that is...if you don?t mind coming to my house, just for coffee, at my house.? My nervousness must have been evident. Scott smirked and said that would be fine

?I?m over here,? he repeated himself.

Was he nervous, too?

?I?ll just wait till you pull out and follow you. I?m the red Toyota?

?Okay, I?m not that far away, just down the street?it?s easy to find.?

?You sure this is ok,? he seemed genuinely concerned.

?Yah, no problem, it?s fine.? I wasn?t very convincing but Scott accepted my reassurance.

It was true, I didn?t live far from Club 477, just about 10 minutes away. I heard a car horn as I pulled onto the street. Was it David saying goodnight or perhaps another driver and the seed of road rage? No matter, I saw Scott?s car waiting at the edge of the lot and flashed my lights as I passed him. Had I told him what I was driving? The rearview mirror filled with his headlights as he pulled behind me. How many times had I been in this situation? A relative stranger following me home, the fear at each intersection that he might change his mind and retreat. I put on the left turn signal. *clink* *clink* *clink* That sound always reminded me of riding in my parent?s car as a child. Scott continued to follow, repeating my curve. I don?t know which is worse, having someone follow you home or following a man home. I always feel safer when I am the leader, but admittedly it is a false sense of security. Harm could come whether I am in my own home with an ax murderer or at his. My road approached. *clink* *clink* *clink* Scott followed. I turned the car into my drive. *clink* *clink* *clink* The two cars moved smoothly as if attached. The distance between our cars never seemed to vary. The brake lights filled the dark with red light, both engines coughed off and the red light ceased. I stepped out of my car and headed for the safety of the back porch light, another false sense of security. I heard Scott?s boot steps across the gravel, up the three steps to the open porch and finally across the wooden planks till he stood behind me. I fumbled with my keys and felt the pressure of the screen door ease up on my shoulder, Scott assisted by holding the door open for me.

?Nice.?

Nice? I wasn?t sure to what he was referring.

?Thanks.? I assumed he meant the house.

I heard the dogs barking inside, their claws tapping across the bare kitchen floor to the back door. The door finally unlocked, I opened it to reveal the creators of the commotion inside.

?Don?t worry, they?re friendly.? The beagles circled the stranger, tails wagging. The barking ceased and was replaced by snorts and sniffs. The two dogs were ?reading? Scott?s smells.

?The chubby one is Barney, the other one is Beatrice.? Scott knelt down and said hello in his best dog voice, one that sounded familiar, perhaps a famous animated canine from T.V.

I went to the cupboard and looked for coffee. My prayers were answered. Despite the general lack of food and beverage, some coffee remained. Scott continued to converse with the dogs. It finally clicked, it was Scooby Doo, a T.V. show that was one of my favorites as an adolescent.

?My nickname is ?Scooby,? my nieces call me ?Scooby,? I?m not sure why.? He appeared to read my mind for the third time that evening.

We talked more about his family as the Mr. Coffee sputtered and dripped. Scott seemed very close to his family and enjoyed talking about them. Barney had lost interest in the stranger and waddled into the living room to sleep. Beatrice, never tired of the attention a new person provided, stuck by Scott?s side. It was the first time I had seen my date in good lighting and I was pleased by what I saw. It was the middle of August and he had worn shorts and boots with a lightweight sweatshirt for the cooler evening. The outfit showed him off well, his legs were strong and lightly tan with a coating of light blonde hair. The muscles in his calves flexed as he pulled a stool away from the counter and had a seat.

?You have a nice house, you own or rent??

?Oh, thank you, I bought it with my ex in ?95. I like it.? I always was concerned what others would see in my home. My taste in decorating was not exactly conventional. I jokingly describe it as a cross between ?Pee-Wee's Playhouse? and the ?Addams Family Mansion.? I had an affinity for tacky accessories and bright colors?probably the outcome of six years in art school.

The coffee was ready and I opened the cupboard, retrieving two coffee mugs and set them on the counter. ?Cream and sugar?? I offered sugar though I would have bet there wasn?t a crystal in the house. I only used Skinny ?N Sweet.

?Do you have any Skinny and Sweet??

Number four.

I fixed the coffee and carried it to the counter where Scott sat. I stood momentarily while I took the first sip. Scott motioned to the stool beside his own and pulled it away from the counter so I could more easily join him. Having mentioned ?My Ex? previously, we started to talk about our past relationships?an activity I had been involved in on most every date I had ever been on. I learned more about Scott as he did me. I liked what I was hearing. As the conversation and the evening?now early morning?continued, our seats got closer. I offered him another cup of coffee, broke away from our entwined hands only long enough to refill the mugs and returned to my seat. Our general beliefs about life, family, love and friendship were touched upon over the next three hours and refills. This was the most exciting part of the dating dance for me. Before the bills, the friends, the schedules, the jobs, the habits and the arguments existed. Right now there was only us two, learning and leaning closer. This is the time when unconditional love seemed possible, when forever had a chance.

Scott was talking but I did not hear him. His face was barely two feet from mine but my ears were paralyzed by my own thoughts. His words became noise, then silence. Though his mouth continued to move, I did not hear a sound. I watched his lips as they parted and returned to meet, a pause for a smile and then more silent words. I wanted to feel his lips on mine, to eliminate the two feet between us. Once again I retreated from the idea, afraid of rejection. Scott?s words crept into the air. At first noise, then real words. My ears reconnected and clicked back into listening mode.

?Can I kiss you??

That was number five.