Pretend You're Someone Else (Chap 8) 4/5

You can find the folder to the other chapters here:

ID: 1727540   (Rated: 18+) Pretend You're Someone Else  A man hides a secret from his family and has no clue that his son has the same secret. by KAT26/Adrian--Published!

Chapter Eight is divided into five parts. This is part four.

Part One

Chapter Eight

May-1992

Avoy, Georgia

Part 4/5

"Yes, daddy! I'm in love with a boy!"

         The weeks slowly passed since the night of the fight with Georgina. His daughter seemed to have calmed down a bit. Peter knew she was still secretly dating Lester, but without any hard evidence, he felt there was nothing he could do.

         On a lighter note, Erich and Paul would be graduating from high school at the end of the month. The two of them already spent their free time poring over apartment ads in the newspaper and preparing for their permanent move to Atlanta. Erich still had his mind set on studying culinary, while Paul wanted to get into business management. Peter hoped to God that his son would find a wife in the years to come, so they would take over the family business when the time arrived. Erich seemed to know how to run his life; perhaps Georgina would start to follow her brother.

         Peter also knew this was the perfect time in his life to reconnect with his childhood friend, and Paul's father, Robert. True, their children were the best of friends, but numerous incidents caused the two men to drift apart over the last seventeen years. Peter was ready to rekindle their friendship; he prayed Robert was as well.

         The day started out perfectly; Peter took it to be a good sign. Rain had fallen the night before, and the air smelled sweet mixed with the scent of pine trees and kudzu. Eating breakfast on the veranda, Peter decided that he was going to do something that he could never do with Joy around; he was going to invite Robert over to watch the Braves game with him. The boys had spent the weekend at Robert’s and were likely to come over tonight. Having the kids there would loosen the awkward tension, if any were to arise.

         Robert lived in a Gothic mansion he had inherited after returning to Avoy and announcing that he was expecting a child. Robert’s parents were uptight and strict Catholics. Distraught with the news that their son was expecting a child out of wedlock, they signed the mansion over to him, left him a “pathetic” gift of thirty million in the bank, and moved back to Rome. Robert settled into the empty home and eagerly awaited his child to be born.

         Peter missed that house. He hadn't set foot in it since March of ‘76. Perhaps, after tonight, things would change.


         For the first five years of their children’s lives, Peter scarcely saw his friend. Both of them were busy raising their young children. Once the boys entered kindergarten, and took an immediate liking to each other, Peter knew he couldn't keep the children away from each other.

         Robert called him one night, during the summer, and asked if he could watch Paul while he took a two month vacation to Europe. Peter agreed, and took the child. When the next year rolled around, he wasn't surprised when Robert asked him to watch Paul again. Ever since then, it had become a yearly "tradition." Secretly, Peter was quite upset that his friend was abandoning his child the same way his parents abandoned him growing up, but he let Paul live with them, and ignored Joy's protests about "raising another brat!"

         During the day of the divorce proceedings, Peter remembered Robert announcing to everyone that he wasn't going to be doing any more traveling in the near future. To Peter's surprise, Erich called him Friday from school, and informed him that Robert would be vacationing in New York all weekend therefore, he would be staying the night at his friend's house, and returning Monday. Peter said nothing. He also knew Robert had a full-time staff to watch over the kids. When the boys came over after school, so Erich could pack his bags, he asked Paul if he knew the reason for his dad's sudden departure. He wanted to believe Robert had a good excuse.

         "He's clothes shopping," Paul said with a forced laugh. "It's not like my father doesn't have enough outfits to dress the entire state of Georgia!" The boy smiled two rows of perfectly straight white teeth. Just looking at them anyone could tell his dad had money. For as long as Peter could remember Paul wore braces and just recently had them removed. Either he once had severely damaged teeth, or Robert just wanted to show everyone that he could afford the expensive dental work. Knowing his friend, it was probably the money.

         "Little has changed since high school," Peter finally replied. He secretly wished that wasn't true. For all he knew, the children didn't have a clue about their parent's rebellious teenage, years. He was glad the town seemed to have forgotten as well.

         If Robert decided to watch the game tonight, Peter would talk to him. From the tone of Paul's voice, the boy was quite upset that his father was leaving him again, when just a month ago he promised he wouldn't be doing anymore traveling for a long time. Peter got up to place his dirty dishes in the sink as his mind wandered and an unexpected thought crossed it: "If all went smoothly, perhaps I could get back together with Frankie!”

         Turning away from the sink, Peter headed up the stairs to take a nap before the boys returned home. "Maybe, just maybe?" he thought with a smile.

*****

         Erich and Paul arrived home ten minutes after school let out. Throwing their backpacks on the kitchen floor then heading straight for the fridge reminded Peter of another time when Joy came home drunk. Erich was leaving for Paul's house when suddenly his mother snatched his bag away and proceeded to dig through it, announcing every item she found like it was bad: "Toothpaste, towels, t-shirt," she snarled, holding each item up in the air. Georgina was laughing hysterically at her brother, who surprisingly was standing beside his mother with great poise and total annoyance. Peter took the bag from his wife, and handed it back to Erich.

         Once Erich was safely outside, Peter screamed at his wife, "What was that for?"

         Joy rolled her eyes, and fell to the ground. Her legs collapsing under her intoxicated state.

         "My friend Myrtle's boy was caught with cigarettes in his bag!"

         "Yeah, well that little brat has been arrested three times since turning sixteen," Peter shot back.

         Joy placed her palms on the tile and heaved herself up. Peter quickly shooed Georgina out of the room; he knew exactly what his wife was going to do next.

         "Just a warning to that son of ours! I'll be watching him! I know all! I see all!"

         Peter closed and opened his eyes in disgust. "Joy, you're drunk, I think you should lie down for a bit."

         His wife's response was to fling her arms around and shout obscenities, peppering the air with, "I fucking hate my life! This family is so fucking stupid and worthless! I hate you all! I am the queen!"

         Shaking his head at the memory, Peter left the boys in the kitchen and made his way down the hallway to call Robert. "I hope that bitch is enjoying my money," he muttered sarcastically before punching the button for his friend's programmed number on the phone. It was answered on the fifth ring.

         "Hello, this is Robert Sella."

         Peter closed his eyes at the crystal clear voice. Nervousness settled in his stomach. He could do this. It was time.

         "Robert, it's me."

         Several seconds of silence filled the air, and Peter wondered if he had made a grave mistake?

         "Peter," a shaky voice answered. "Is everything alright? Has anything happened to Paul?"

         With a sigh of relief, Peter leaned back against the wall, and started looping his fingers through the long telephone, cord. The panic slowly left him, and his stomach settled down almost instantly.

         "Everything is fine," he responded with a laugh.

         "Oh, thank goodness."

         Another few seconds of awkward silence. Taking a deep breath, Peter gathered up his courage, and the words tumbled out, "Do you want to come over and watch the game tonight with me, Erich, and Paul? Georgina is attending a sleepover, so it's just us tonight."

         Before Robert could answer, Peter kept babbling, "I know you just returned from New York, and if you're tired we can always try another time. I mean, it's been a long time since I saw you last, but..." he stopped mid-sentence when he heard laughter from the other end of the line.

         "Peter, Peter, I would love to come over tonight."

         A slight smile crept over Peter's face, and he had to grasp the table so he wouldn't fall over in surprise. He could hear his friend chuckling over the line.

         "What time should I come over?"

         "Um...six? Six-thirty?"

         "I'll be there. Do you want me to bring anything?"

         Peter frowned and glanced in the direction of the kitchen. The boys were seated on the barstools drinking coffee while finishing their homework. Not a single bit of food was in sight, meaning they had plenty for the game tonight.

         "Nope, there is enough." Peter turned back around, "Everything should be fine."

         "Wonderful, I'll see you in a few hours, then?"

         "Um, yes," Peter replied, still slightly nervous. "I look forward to it."

         After the call ended, Peter felt a million times better, but a small tinge of worry still lay embedded in his stomach. Assuming it was just nerves, he placed the phone back on the cradle, and walked swiftly up the stairs, passed the recently replaced wallpaper, and up to take a shower before their guest arrived. Everything had to run perfectly tonight. Peter wanted Frankie back in his life, and Robert was the only person who could make that happen. Tonight was the night; he felt it within his body.

         Minutes later he shed his clothes, and stepped into the warm water. Peter knew nothing could go wrong; yet, that strange sensation in his stomach refused to go away for good.

*****

         When the grandfather clock chimed six, everything was ready. The coffee table in the living room held chips, salsa, sandwiches, beer for Peter and Robert, as well as ice tea for the boys.

         Peter nervously brushed an invisible piece of lint from his khakis, and smoothed down the front of his polo shirt. He looked good, but not too dressed up. He didn't want Erich and Paul to realize something was going on.

         At approximately five minutes after six the doorbell rang. "Erich, can you let Robert in? I'm busy at the moment." Peter wasn't really busy, he just wanted his friend to believe he was. He didn't want Robert to know that he had been anxiously counting down the seconds since stepping out of the shower. Quickly, he turned and disappeared into the kitchen. He could hear Erich and Paul's footsteps as they raced down the staircase and into the foyer. Several seconds later the door opened with a squeak.

         "Daddy, you made it," Paul's cheerful voice rang out.

         Feeling light-headed, Peter once again smoothed his clothes down and took a deep, relaxing, breath. Memories of the past rushed over him, but they were flung aside. This was nonsense. He had seen Robert at least once every week in the past seventeen years. So, why was he terrified?

         "Because, Joy is finally gone, and you want Frankie back," a voice in his head answered. "You will be fine."

         Standing straight, Peter opened the kitchen door and proceeded to the front parlor. He could do this. Georgina was gone to a friend's house, the boys were likely to stay over at Paul's tonight, everything was turning out perfectly. Peter knew he could have Frankie back by morning. Rounding the corner, he saw Robert's reflection in the large oval, mirror that hung on the wall. Peter immediately felt under-dressed. He took in his friend's neatly pressed khakis, Armani shoes, linen shirt, and wool blazer. Did Robert realize they were going to be watching a baseball game in the living room, not actually attending one? As Peter pondered, his friend caught a glimpse of him.

         "Peter," he called out with a smile. "I hope I'm not overdressed?"

         It was typical of Robert. Ever since they were teenagers, his friend always wore the most outrageous outfits, and looked better than anyone in the room. Peter was jealous then, and still was now.

         Once in the parlor, Paul jumped onto the silk couch next to Erich, and looked over towards his father.

         "Is that from New York?"

         "Bloomingdales," Robert replied, slowly lowering himself down onto one of the two matching chairs flanking the sofa. Peter perched on the other, opposite his friend. For some reason, his old record player caught his attention from across the room. Shaking his head, he returned to the conversation. He refused to allow his runaway mind to ruin this night.

         "Isn't there a store in Atlanta?" Erich piped up, as he reached for a sandwich.

         "Yes, but it's not New York."

         Everyone laughed. Peter was beginning to feel a little better, but something wasn't right. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Paul swiftly reach over to take the sandwich Erich held out to him. He noticed that the boys' fingers slowly entwined around each other. It was an unusual gesture, and it happened so quickly Peter wondered if Robert caught it as well? Looking back over at his friend, he found Robert carefully laying a linen napkin on his lap.

         Something wasn't right, Peter could feel it in the air. Opening a bottle of beer, he took a large swallow, and abruptly stood up.

         "Excuse me, I left something in the kitchen." Without waiting for a response, Peter swiftly walked out of the room, taking the beer bottle with him. The game wouldn't start until seven. Perhaps he could find something to do for the next forty-five minutes. Making his way back into the kitchen, he stopped and leaned against the cool kitchen sink, the bottle still clenched in his hand.

         "What's wrong with me?" he whispered aloud. The incident between him and Robert ended the day his friend returned from Atlanta with news of a baby on the way. The huge fight they had months before was put behind them for good. Everything was going to work out for the best. The terrible break-up with Frankie still left scars on him, as well as his former lover. Robert was the only person who could bring Frankie back to him, and now he didn't think he possessed the courage he once believed he had to ask Robert to return Frankie to him. It was like Frankie died in that restaurant the night Peter walked out, when he refused to turn around and face his lover one last time. He understood he was making a statement to his lover by not looking back, while Frankie screamed in frustration. To be honest, he didn't want Frankie to see him crying as he left.

         Now he had another problem to deal with. He saw Erich's eyes glaze over with pleasure as Paul quickly brushed his fingers against Erich's knuckles. It couldn't be true! He knew from past experience that teenage boys were turned on by anything around them. Perhaps, his son had a girl on his mind. Plus, Paul could have accidentally touched Erich's hand. What about the collage of vintage poster girls on Erich's wall? Big bosomy women were not in style nowadays, thanks to the anorexic models that graced the covers of the fashion magazines. This just proved his son loved curvy women. Yes, that was it! Peter was getting worried over nothing. Draining his beer, Peter spun around just in time to see Robert entering the kitchen.

         "Hey, we're wondering about you? Are you alright?" A faint line appeared across his friend's temple.

         "I'm fine," Peter answered, putting on a fake smile, while reaching down to toss the beer bottle in the recycling bin under the double-sink.

         Robert suddenly looked nervous. Peter could tell something was troubling him.

         "Look," his friend squeaked out, "If you're uncomfortable with me being here for several hours, I'll leave. I can make up some lame excuse to Erich and Paul about being jet-lagged."

         Peter smiled and inched closer to Robert, his Converse sneakers making slight tapping noises on the tile. "Don't New York and Georgia share the same time zone?"

         Robert blushed, then reached up to tuck a lock of curly black hair behind his ear. "I guess that would be a lame excuse."

         "Well, perhaps you should stay then?" Peter was shocked by his forced tone. The former nervousness seemed to have melted away. He saw Robert raise an eyebrow.

         "Are you sure..." he trailed off.

         "Yes, we haven't really talked in almost eighteen years, and we see each other at least once a week."

         Robert threw back his head and laughed. "Well, thankfully we've grown-up a lot since our last real chat at the diner when I returned to Avoy."

         Peter stepped back in surprise. "You remember?"

         A smile slowly crept over his friend's face. "How could I forget? You were quite clear on a few things."

         This time, Peter turned red. Walking towards the fridge to hide his face, Peter called over his shoulder, "Want another beer?"

         "Gladly," was the response. Peter rummaged through the drawers and pushed things around the shelves, then he realized he had forgot to buy extra.

         "Um," he trailed off, turning back to face Robert. "I only had those two we just drank."

         "I guess you needed me to bring some after all?"

         Ignoring the sarcasm, Peter glanced at his watch. "Thirty minutes until the game starts, want to ride to the liquor store with me?"

         Robert's reaction was to grasp the kitchen island, much like Peter did with the telephone table. "You want me to come with you?"

         Peter shrugged. The store was only ten-minutes away. "Do you want to?"

         "Of course," Robert answered. "I...do you remember the last time the two of us rode in your Camaro together?"

         Peter shook his head.

         "It was the night we met Joy at the bar," Robert slowly answered.

         With a gasp, he remembered. Could it have really been that long ago? Surely, they rode together in the course of the last eighteen-years. Looking back on it, Robert was right; every time they needed to be at the same place, they had taken their own cars. Peter realized that now was the time to get their friendship back on track.

         "Robert, we're almost forty. I do believe we've matured a lot since then."

         His friend smiled and looked towards the living room. "I'll tell the boys that we're running to the liquor store for a bit. Shouldn't take...thirty-minutes?"

         With a nod Peter picked-up his coat from the rack near the back door. "I'll meet you in the car."

*****

         The streets of Avoy were deserted; everyone was, without a doubt, at home waiting for the game to start. Inside the car matched the climate outside--dead silent. The only thing that had been spoken was Robert laughing in amusement when he saw that the interior of the car still looked the same as it did in the 70s: red leather seats and a matching steering wheel. "You still have the eight-track," Robert called-out in surprise.

         Peter chuckled as he backed the car into the street. "I can't seem to replace it."

         Once the car left the driveway and headed towards the only liquor store in town, the atmosphere became awkwardly silent. Pausing at the first stop sign, Peter looked over at Robert and found him staring back. He wanted to mention how just driving together brought back so many memories (some good, others bad), but dared not to. It was much too soon.

         A sudden realization hit him. Did he remember his wallet? Peter was so nervous about leaving that he had completely forgot to run upstairs for his money.

         "Damn," he hit his palms on the leather steering, wheel.

         "Is there a problem?" Robert asked, very coolly.

         With a sigh, he turned to face his friend. "I forgot my wallet."

         Robert reached into his blazer pocket and pulled out several black, credit cards. "Not a problem," he said with a flourish.

         Peter had to laugh; that one gesture made Peter realize how much he missed hanging-out with his friend.

         "The liquor store doesn't take credit cards or checks; for some reason it's cash only."

         "What about Mr. Wakefield's store in the opposite direction?"

         "I believe they close at five on game nights," Peter said.

         Robert laughed. "Only in Avoy."

         It suddenly dawned on Peter what he just heard from his friend. Jumping back in surprise, he asked, "Do you shop there?"

         An embarrassed look crossed his friend's face. Reaching up to grasp a hold of black hair, Robert began to twist it in a nervous manner. "Tim Harris works there."

         Peter sighed, "I know," then turned to make a U-turn, heading back to the house. "Are you aware that our children have become quite good friends with Tim? Erich invites him over for dinner at least once a week."

         Robert leaned his head against the window. "Paul told me, that's how I knew he worked at the grocery store. I've...I've let Tim know how sorry I am about what we did in the eighth grade."

         There was another pause; Peter felt like he was going to cry and it wasn't going to be a nice cry, it was going to be the full-blown "ugly-cry." That was one of many memories he didn't like to think about.

         Steering the car into the driveway, he parked next to Robert's silver Mercedes. Looking back at his friend, Peter sighed, "I know. I did the same thing."

         Robert half-smiled, "Do you think it's odd that our two boys are now friends with the kid we bullied in middle school?"

         "I think karma had something to do with that, and I'm glad. We really hurt him, his brother, and his father. To make matters worse they paid rent to my dad, therefore, nothing was done about the prank we pulled. My dad somehow found out it was us, but said nothing. I honestly believe he was proud of our accomplishment. Typical. Just shows what a cold-hearted bastard he really was."

         Peter saw his friend nodding in agreement. Absently, Robert said, "To think, I only wanted to do it so I could impress you. I wanted you to like me. I was such an insecure arrogant brat." Robert shook his head and quietly snapped out of his dream, "Thank God we have two wonderful children! Nothing like we use to be!"

         Peter smiled and opened the car door, "Thank goodness, they're nothing like we used to be."

         Laughing quietly amongst themselves, Peter happened to see Robert brush a tear from his eye as they climbed up the back-steps. He didn't know if it was from laughing too hard, or was it something else? Pulling his jacket tightly around himself, Peter opened the kitchen door as they made their way inside.

         "My wallet is lying on the dresser," he called out heading towards the backstairs. Abruptly, he was cut off by Robert as his friend raised a finger to his lips. "Do you hear that?" he whispered.

         "Hear what? I don't hear anything," Peter answered.

         Robert made a motion with his fingers for Peter to move closer to the hallway. For some reason the air felt tighter. Robert had a rather odd expression on his face. He mouthed two words, "Peggy Lee." Then Peter heard it, the exact same album that his friend had given him back in the eighth-grade was playing in the parlor.

         "You kept the record?" Robert asked in amazement. His eyes grew large in disbelief.

         Peter softly closed and locked the back door, then crept towards the parlor with Robert softly following behind. There was no need to take a trip to the liquor store because something was happening, and they both knew it. Why were the children listening to the records, and why did they have to chose Peggy Lee out of the entire music collection? Nostalgia was drifting in the air. Memories of the vision Peter had when he was fourteen hit him; the daydream of the two boys dancing. Cautiously, they continued walking, with every step the hallway seemed to be growing larger, pushing them back towards the kitchen instead of the parlor. Peter felt like he was swimming. He had to answer Robert's question.

         "I kept everything you ever gave me," he finally responded, then added bitterly. "As well, as the stuff you returned to me."

         They stopped at the closed doors, which led to the parlor. Peggy's mysterious voice floated from underneath. Peter could feel Robert's incredibly soft, hand on his shoulder. Raising his head, he saw the guilty look in his friend's eyes. "I guess I deserve that?" he whispered, his black hair fell around his face. It looked like he was hiding something.

         Without thinking, Peter blurted out, "Does Frankie want the letters back?"

         Robert closed his eyes then slowly opened them. Signs that he was about to burst into a flood of crying seemed to have disappeared. After a moment's hesitation, he nodded his head.

         Smiling, Peter pushed the door open and immediately wished he hadn't. Erich and Paul lay curled-up, on top of each other on the sofa. His son was literally being forced down into the sofa by Paul. Peter and Robert had accidently walked in on their children in the middle of a make-out session that had obvious signs of turning into something else.

*****

         There was a few seconds of shocked silence, as the two boys scrambled up from the sofa, Erich pulled down his shirt, and Paul turned around to zip up his jeans. Peter felt like he was drowning. The air was incredibly hot. He was trembling as he walked across the tiny room to the record player. Robert quietly retreated to the nearest corner, a bewildered expression on his face. Peter knew the reason. A similar incident happened between the two of them years ago. In fact, it was on the same night he met Joy, only a few hours earlier. The conversation the two men had out in the hallway was still fresh on their minds as well. This couldn't be happening! History was repeating itself!

         Peter snapped the record player off, and gently placed the arm back on the hook. The very same Peggy Lee album lay silently on the turntable. Lowering the lid on the player, he turned around to survey the damage. Both of the boys looked to be in a daze. Paul had sat back down on the sofa, refusing to meet anyone's eyes. Erich stood in between Peter, and Robert, his face expressionless.

         The awkward tension spread through the room like wildfire. What does one say? What does one do? By the look on Robert's face, he seemed to be at a loss for words. His mouth kept opening and closing like a fish gasping for breath. His long black, eyelashes were fluttering. He was obviously in a stupor. There had been too many coincidences in the short time since he arrived. How could this have happened?

         Staring down at his son, Peter saw everything he had worked so hard for vanish like smoke. The dream he had for Erich was gone. Feeling anger boiling inside of him, the air unexpectedly turned red, the walls began to spin like a carousel.

         "Daddy?" Erich's voice seemed to come out of nowhere. His son didn't have time to finish the sentence. Overcome with grief, and angry beyond comprehension, Peter drew his hand back and swung it forth with such power that everyone in the room heard the sickening smack as his palm made contact with Erich's face.

*Next Segment*

ID: 1738189   (Rated: 18+) Pretend You're Someone Else (Chap 8) 5/5  (This chapter is divided into 5 segments) "There is something I must tell you..." (1992) by KAT26/Adrian--Published!