Ben entered the living room that was barely big enough for a couch and flipped on a light. After a two-second delay, the light came on, revealing a blank spot in the corner. After a moment Ben realized that the twenty-two inch TV was missing. Fear tiptoed up his spine. He had been robbed! That wasn’t the frightening thought. The idea that the robber might still be lurking in the apartment was.
Ben went next to the closet-sized kitchen to fetch the biggest, and only, cutting knife he owned. Wielding it like a thief detector, he made a sweep of the rooms. Considering the apartment’s size, this didn’t take long. Whoever had been there was gone, but had taken Ben’s TV and boombox. The six-pack of beer that Ben had begged a friend to buy earlier in the day was also missing from the fridge.
Ben didn’t need to play Sherlock Holmes and examine the sole cigarette butt in the ashtray, but he did anyway. The familiar generic brand underlined Mason’s name in triplicate, which was overkill since it was already highlighted and accompanied by a row of exclamation points.
Oh, well, Ben mused, one less present to wrap.
He threw himself on the couch, too despondent to take off his winter jacket. The worst part was yet to come. Ben could deal with the loss of his crappy TV or the beat-up old boombox, but being single for the holidays would leave him free to entertain old ghosts that he would rather forget. Still, there were a few days left. Maybe that was enough time to fall in love with someone new.
Ben finally looked to the blinking red light that had been clamoring for his attention. At least Mason hadn’t stolen the answering machine. Hell, maybe he called to leave a drunken apology. Ben wouldn’t put it past him. He rose and jabbed at the machine, which beeped in protest before playing its message.
“Ben?” The voice was strained. “It’s me.”
Allison? She sounded so different that he could barely be sure it was her. Something was wrong.
“My dad. He’s--” There was sobbing, in the midst of which sounded like the words heart attack. “Please call me back. I love you.”
The machine beeped again, signaling the end of the message. Ben grabbed the phone and dialed Allison’s dorm room in Austin, before gut instinct made him hang up the phone and dial a number he knew by heart. The same one he had always called when they were growing up. After two rings, the line clicked and Allison answered the phone.
“Allison? What happened?”
“He’s dead, Ben.” Allison broke down, Ben trying to console her while she regained her composure. “My father,” she said when she was capable. “He’s dead.”
* * * * *
Convincing his parents to send him a plane ticket hadn’t been hard. They had been begging him to come home for Christmas, which he had resisted. Ben had loved the idea of being alone in Chicago, celebrating the holidays with only his boyfriend.
Ex-boyfriend, he corrected.
His parents managed to get him a flight on Christmas Eve and had probably paid through the nose to do so. The only available flight was a midnight express. The plane boarded in record time due to having fewer than twenty passengers. Ben’s seat was in the front of coach in the emergency exit row, and while still not first class, it did have more leg room than all the rows behind him. With the seats next to him free, Ben was soon stretched out and sleeping, but not before looking down on the city that had been his home the last year and a half.
Ben stirred when the air pressure changed, indicating that the plane had begun its descent. He shifted uncomfortably, the pocket watch pressing painfully against his hip and regretted keeping it. So far it had been a constant reminder of his losing streak with love. Only his own poor taste was to blame. Since starting college, he had found plenty of legitimate guys who had taken an interest in him. These relationships never lasted more than a few weeks, while Ben’s appetite for unavailable straight guys continued to thrive. Once he’d even broken up with a guy after developing a crush on his straight brother.
All of this left a bad taste in Ben’s mouth, reminding him of high school. He had waited so long to be free of that environment, where every guy he wanted was straight or closeted. The number of openly gay students in college appeared limitless, but still Ben was attracted to those he couldn’t have and he didn’t understand why. Was it a fear of commitment or a fetish for straight guys? Probably neither. He wanted nothing more than a serious long-term relationship. Perhaps his particular tastes couldn’t be satisfied by anyone, straight or gay.
Or maybe he was still yearning for Tim. Ben looked out the window at the orange city lights and wondered for the thousandth time what had become of him. Since the summer they had broken up, Tim had disappeared. He still lived in the same house, since his car was often in the driveway, but Ben never saw Tim out jogging or at school the next year. He must have gone to a school in the next district, maybe a private one.
“Funeral, huh?”
Ben came out of his repose to see a flight attendant sitting next to the emergency exit in one of those fold-down chairs they used during take off and landing. The man was in his mid-twenties and thin, with the sort of high cheek bones that provided models with job security. His dirty blonde hair was short on the sides and medium length on top, with just enough styling product to make it stand up. Overall he was very attractive and rather dapper in his airline uniform.
“Sorry?” Ben inquired.
“You’re flying because of a funeral,” the man stated in a pleasantly deep voice.
Ben was taken aback. “Well, yeah. How did you know?”
The flight attendant rested a hand on his chin, his long index finger on his cheek. “Your face was so sad. People never look sad when they fly, unless there is a funeral involved.”
Ben felt a pang of guilt. He had been reminiscing about failed relationships when he should have been thinking of Allison and what she was going through.
“Of course,” the flight attendant mused further, “we also get sad faces when people have to leave their partners behind, although passengers usually recover from that by the time we land.”
“Well, if you must know,” Ben began testily. He was becoming irritated with this stranger prying into his personal affairs. “Not only is there a funeral, but my boyfriend robbed me yesterday, thus becoming my ex.”
“That would explain it. A double whammy. Here, on the house.”
The flight attendant reached into a pocket and took out two mini bottles of vodka. “My name’s Jace, by the way,” he said as he tossed them to Ben.
“Your name tag says Jason,” Ben pointed out.
“I know.” Jace took hold of the tag and angled it to better see. “Isn’t that mean? I told them I wanted one that says Jace, but that’s not my legal name. Where do they get these things, anyway? Is there a store that sells them somewhere? That would be cool. Then I could buy my own.”
Ben laughed and introduced himself.
“That can’t be your legal name either,” Jace replied. “It must be Benjamin?”
“Just Ben,” he replied tersely. He didn’t like anyone to call him by his full name. Not anymore.
“Well, it’s very economical at least. Only three letters.”
Ben looked down at the two tiny bottles of booze. “Care to join me?” he asked, offering one.
“Nope. Not allowed to drink on duty,” Jace explained. “I don’t really drink anyway. I only take them because they make such nice stocking stuffers.”
“Are there flights on Christmas?” Ben asked, wanting to keep the conversation going.
“Oh, yes,” Jace replied with an exasperated look. “There isn’t a day of the year that the airlines don’t serve.”