Chapter 12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
PROFESSOR X
“ S o, where are you taking me, young master…? You know, I don’t think you’ve ever told me your surname,” Arran laughed as we head down 7 th Avenue.
“You can’t remember from my comic’s credits?” I tease. “I mean, I know yours because of your books. Loved the last issue of Skylancers , by the way. I never had you down as a fantasy fan.”
“I’m not, really, if I’m honest. But I hadn’t done it before, so I figured I’d try my hand at it.”
I smile politely, as we walk. We’ve been walking for a short while now, though we did stop and have one drink at his hotel’s bar first. It had been a long flight for him after all, and I figured why not join him. After all, he’s already on board for the book, it would be rude not to.
We’ve talked a little about his books, and he actually complimented mine too, asking when we might expect a new comic from me, or from me and Cal. “ Flowers for the Dead was really something special, you know. Sometimes, finding that collaborator that compliments you so perfectly creates the best work,” he’d said.
“Oh, and I figured I’d take you to the Stonewall. It’s a famous one, after all, so maybe you’ve heard of it?” I say, remembering his question. “Oh, and my name is Abelman.”
“Oh, of course I’ve heard of the Stonewall. You know, in the UK we have a charity named after it too— wait, did you say ‘Abelman’? As in the Abelman Agency?”
I turn my head and glance at him curiously. “Yeah, that’s, uh, it’s my parents’ agency. You’ve heard of it?”
“Submitted to them a few times over the years, but never got anywhere.” Arran says it casually, as he looks around at the streets we’re passing through, but I can’t help but feel a sudden twist in my gut.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“What for? No harm, it’s not like you passed on my work. Hell, shame you weren’t working there, I get the feeling I’d have an agent by now if you did,” he laughs, nudging me with his shoulder, and I loosen up again.
“Yeah, I think my parents would love that too. But, I dunno. I kind of want to make my own way, you know? My friend Cal says being their son alone, working in another field of publishing, already offers me a ton of privilege over others, but it’s not what I want people to think if I ever find success as a creator, you know? I’d rather they think I got there on my own merits.”
“I can get that,” Arran says, offering me a lopsided smile. “And, you know, most outside of the publishing world won’t know and won’t think that. But those that do put two and two together, well, they might come to certain conclusions. You can’t be too bent out of shape with the answer they may come to. End of the day, you know the work you did to get where you are, what anyone else thinks doesn’t really matter.”
I feel a small weight I’d been carrying feel a little lighter: not gone, it could never be so easy, but it definitely feels easier. “That’s a nice way of looking at it.”
“And hey, it’s not like there isn’t some truth to that: there is privilege there. The point is not to rely on it, and I know we’ve not known each other that long, but you don’t seem the sort to rely entirely on that to me.”
“Thanks, Arran. I appreciate that.”
Finally, we turn onto Christopher Street, and soon find ourselves standing outside The Stonewall Inn. Patrons stand outside vaping and smoking, the sound of the music coming out the doorway. We stop outside for a moment as Arran looks at the building with what can only be described as reverence.
“This is a piece of history, right here. Queer history, our history. Ive always wanted to pay it a visit someday, you know,” he turns to me, a broad smile over his face. “Thank you, Jesse. This is the start to the most amazing trip.”
I smile so broadly that I feel my eyes squinting closed, my cheeks push so far up, as pride bubbles within my head. I guess I can be good at some things, even if it’s just some loosely planned trip management.
We head inside. The cramped front room is already full, people playing pool in one corner, or at least pretending too, the pool balls looking unmoved from their spots in ages as the players lean on their cues, chatting and laughing. The bar has people parked from one end to the other, with a new drag queen at the far end, looking mildly awkward on their first night out in drags I imagine.
We wait until we’re served, asking for two beers, as I figure I’ll match Arran for drinks to make things easier. I offer to pay for the round, but he bats me off, making payment, and then stepping back from the bar. I slap some bills down on the bar and smile apologetically at the barman. He shrugs his shoulders in a statement of no worries, it happens .
“Oh, was I supposed—?” Arran looks sheepish as we manage to find a small table toward the back of the room.
“Yeah, we tend to leave a tip after every service here. I’d heard that was different in Europe,” I laugh, letting him know it’s no trouble, before going into the finer points of tipping and percentages, giving him advice as someone with experience in the bar service industry as to what is likely to get him faster service at the bar.
“Thanks for the tips, Jesse. Best put them into practice!” He rises, taking his empty glass with him, leaving me astonished that he’s finished already. “Same again?”
“Uh, sure,” I say, trying to finish my own drink, which is still half full. He pats my shoulder as he passes, causing me to choke on the liquid filling my mouth. I am so not usually a beer person.
He returns, two fresh drinks in his hands, as he puts one down in front of me. “You know, I’m more of a cider man these days, but I suppose we have to make do.”
“Cider? Like, apple juice?” I say, and he laughs.
We continue to drink and chat the night away, until all sense of the weirdness of our new, at least IRL, friendship falls away, and though we’ve only met for the first time a few hours ago, we’re talking like we’ve known each other for years. Which I guess in some way is true.
However, I’m struggling to keep up with Arran when it comes to the drinks. It seems like every time I’m just halfway through my drink, he’s ready for another, and offers to grab another round in.
“Ah come on, I owe you for getting me to my hotel and being my tour guide. Not to mention getting me my first gig at Excelsior, man. Honestly, this is on me,” he says when I try to stop him from buying me another drink.
We talk about our work in comics, and our hopes and dreams, both in and out of comics.
“So when are you going to write another comic? It’s been kind of quiet from you in a while,” Arran says, taking a deep swig of beer.
“Ah, I dunno. Cal thinks I need to work on it now, but things are just really busy with the internship, you know?”
“But you want to be a creator, right? Not an editor?”
“Yeah, really speaking. It’s where my real passion lies, for sure.”
“So how come the internship gets the focus? I mean, if it’s getting in the way of what you want, maybe you should let it go. And don’t get me wrong, I am grateful you’re there because you thought of me and landed me this amazing gig, but I’m just thinking, for you, like.”
I think for a moment, weighing up why I do stick it out and give it so much more of my energy and focus, when my writing has been languishing. “No, I get you. And you’re right, I guess. It’s just a hard choice to make, you know, choosing one path over another. I just can’t help feeling like it’s an amazing opportunity, and I’d be making a huge mistake if I threw it away.”
Arran nods as he swallows his beer. “Well, don’t think of it as throwing it away. If you did pack it in and move on, you’d still have done it. It’s still there, and the people you met are still there. But you’re not letting yourself get the things you really want out of life, for fear of losing something which isn’t everything you want anyway. Trust me…that’s a path that leads to regrets.”
For the first time, Arran looks somber, and he looks into the bottom of his glass as he casually swirls the liquid around. I get the sense there’s some pain there, that is maybe still quite fresh.
“You sound like you know from experience,” I venture, tentatively, not wanting to push a sour note onto the night but struggling to stop curiosity taking over me.
He looks up and meets my eyes, biting his lip as if he’s thinking if he should share this with me. To my honor, he does.
“Yeah. Yeah, I do, kid. I love comics, but writing them, making this career happen…it wasn’t without its cost. And sometimes, I think that I should have taken a step back, if only for a little bit, because I let something more dear to me than anything else in the world go just so I could make this happen.”
Arran tells me about this guy he met years ago, early on in his career, a cosplayer called Cameron. He tells me about their time together at comic cons, and then how it became something more, but how he mucked it all up and now, he’s alone.
“Arran, I’m so sorry,” I say, and I can feel a prickle of tears in my eyes, I really can’t imagine how he must feel…except I can, if I’m honest.
“Ah, it’s all good. I’m sure some day I’ll find someone. Or maybe I won’t. But I did achieve the dreams I wanted to, and I’m managing my career and personal life better now. Going through all that, I guess now I’ll know when I should take a step back to let the important things in life happen.”
Arran shakes of the thoughtful look on his face, replacing it with a broad smile and a devilish twinkle in his eyes. “What about you, Jesse? Fine young man like you, you must have a boyfriend somewhere, right? Maybe Cal?” His eyebrow rises, as if probing for more. I spit out my beer, thankfully back into the glass.
“Callum? No,” I cough. “We’re just friends, we’ve known each other since college.
“But no, I’m single, man. Too busy for that too, I guess.” I shrug to him.
Arran looks at me with a frown. He moves his hand across the table and rests it on mine. “I used to think that a lot too, kid. Look where that got me.”
“Drinking in a major historical landmark, having landed a big mainstream comics gig and living it up in New York?” I grin at him, just about managing to suppress a hiccup.
“Touché,” he laughs back before returning to a more serous expression, albeit behind a smile. “Let me give you some advice I was given but didn’t listen to until it was too late.
“This industry can be brutal, and frighteningly lonely. You want to really survive in it, and keep your joy intact, you need someone who’ll stand beside you through all the shit. Someone who will give you shit when you can’t see the wood for the trees. Don’t wait, thinking there’ll be a time when things slow down and you can focus on the other aspects of your life; that’s not how life works, let alone this industry. It’s a shark that moves ever forward and waits for no one. But you don’t have to be. You can enjoy all the ocean out there, if you just learn to go with the flow once in a while. Wherever it takes you.”
He leaves me then with a nod, as he goes to get more beers, tapping my hand before he left. He’s right. Time is running out, and if I don’t sort it out now, I’ll be alone. I need someone alongside me, because I don’t think I can face all of this alone, not anymore. I need to find someone to be my rock, because I’m in the ocean already and I feel like I’m gonna drown.
“Sorry to bring the mood down, but get this down you, lad, we’ll soon be back on the path to fun, I’m sure,” Arran returns, placing another beer in front of me, and we clink our glasses in cheers, and I force a smile back on my face as I force these worries to the back of my mind. Later , I think.
Eventually, we head upstairs where there’s another bar, and a low performance stage. A DJ plays the latest pop music, as people dance, the heat of their bodies filling the room as they press together in the space provided.
“Come on, I love this one!” I yell over the music, grabbing Arran by the hand and dragging him into the dance floor. We’re dancing in the crowd, Arran laughing as he moves slightly awkwardly. I guess he’s not much of a dancer.
“Well, aren’t you a little mover!” He laughs, and I giggle in return, cutting loose. Now, I am no dancer, not by a long shot. There’s a reason I tend bar at JoyBox while Julio dances, and it’s not just Julio’s stunning bod. But sometimes, when the mood is right, I find it really freeing to just let my gangly limbs fly and give it my best awkward white boy twerking on the floor. It’s a moment to be silly and just have fun and not worry about the consequences or how you look.
Suddenly, a girl with a bright pink bob haircut butts into me and I go flying over towards Arran, landing butt first against him. And you know what, it’s crowded in here and this feels kinda nice by here anyway.
I keep dancing, listening to the music and hearing that laugh of Arran’s from behind me, as I rock my hips back and forth to the beat. I feel the sweat starting to slip down my neck, so I unbutton my shirt a bit, letting more air get to my chest.
“Hey, let’s get out of here!” I yell into Arran’s ear, noticing a slight wince from him. “Oooh, let’s hit the Condor !”
“I think I’ve heard of that one! Sure, lead the way, Master Abelman!”
“Heh, ‘master’…we’re not at the Condor yet,” I grab his arm and drag him behind me.
From there, things start getting kind of blurry. I definitely know there was dancing but aside from that, it’s almost like we’re jumping from one scene to the next.
I remember getting into an Uber and walking up to the old warehouse front of the Condor entrance. I remember a sweaty, dark room. I definitely remember more drinks. A lot more drinks. And, I think I remember a big, green dog?
But eventually, I just remember everything going black.
I wake when the sun starts searing my brain through my eyelids, which is so unfair seen as someone decided to bring a marching band and set up shop in there. Groaning, I roll over, drawing the sheets around me and pulling them off my backside so the air con can get at it and cool me off.
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” comes a light, accented voice, making my eyes shoot open, eyelids feeling like sandpaper.
I roll back over, pushing myself up against the pillows and look over at Arran on the couch, the curtains pulled open behind him in the big windows.
“Where—?” I start to say, then gag as my mouth feels dry and tacky.
Arran nods at a glass of water on the bedside table. “My hotel room. I didn’t know where you lived, and by 3am I didn’t think I could trust that you live ‘in the heart of the third biggest fantasy world this side of the twentieth century’. Though I must say, impressive turn of phrase when you’re as sloshed as you were last night,” he laughs, and I swear it splits my skull in two.
“Ugh,” I say, lashing out for the water and bringing it my lips, gulping it back thirstily. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be such a mess.”
“Don’t be daft,” he says, “It’s my fault, I forgot you Americans can’t match a Welshman drink for drink.” He gets up, smiling at me as I hand him the empty water glass, and he heads over to the mini-fridge and pours more freezing cold water out for me.
“Still,” I say, taking the glass, “I shouldn’t have let myself get so—” Again, I’m derailed from my train of thought by a sudden realization. I pull up the sheets and see I am completely naked. “Oh my god, did we—?” I panic, my hand pointing wildly between us, oh my god, what did we do?
Arran laughs. “No, no, I was a complete gentleman. I spent my first night here on the couch,” he says, gesturing towards the the one in front of the window, which has a spare bedsheet draped over it, and a pillow, proving his point. “Not that you didn’t enthusiastically offer,” he says, sipping a cup of coffee with a smirk. “Want one?”
I nod, holding my head in my hands. “Oh my god, what did I do?”
“Well, when I realized that it was maybe time to call it a night, me because I was finally feeling absolutely knackered, and you because you were perhaps having a bit too much fun, I suggested we get an Uber home. I tried to get your address, but as I say, it seemed to be the furthest thing from your mind. Once we got here, you offered to walk home alone, but given the state you were in, I wouldn’t have felt right sending you into the night like that. So I suggested you come up,” he explains. I nod, this all sort of sounding kind of familiar.
“When we got up here, I closed the door and turned around to find you standing at the foot of the bed, arms spread wide, and totally stark bollock naked, and offering to ‘give me a proper New York Welcome’.”
I gasp, shocked at my own absolute stupidity. I mean, oh my god, I’m a sex pest! I revealed myself to this man, without his consent, and made lurid suggestions? He must have changed his mind about the book now, surely. I have to get out of here.
I launch out of the bed, hastily trying to bring the bedsheet with me as I scan around for my clothes, which are still strewn haphazardly around the whole room, and in my panic I accidentally step on the sheet causing it to pull out of my hands by my shoulders, falling, but stopping halfway down me as it gets…caught.
Arran turns casually, pointing towards my heavily draped self that is pointing back at him, my arms wrapped across my chest to cover my nipples.
“I believe the phrase is ‘Mazel Tov’,” he grins, and offers me the coffee cup, which I take, hands shaking. I open my mouth to make my profuse apologies, trying to point out that it’s morning, and I was feeling some kind of way last night, when Arran turns back around holding his own coffee cup again.
“Jesse, it is not the first time I have seen a friends knob, nor do I imagine it will be the last. And right or wrong, this is not the first time a wild night out wound up with unexpected nudity,” he takes a sip. “Honestly, night out back home, it’s more common than you’d think.
“But I can assure you: I think no less of you, honestly, I think you’re a laugh. And as flattered as I am, I’m old enough to be your father, so I wasn’t about to jump in bed with you. I instead got you to sit down, drink some water and before you knew it, you were asleep.”
I take a sip of my coffee, just as he does his. Finally, I start to relax. And then the bedsheet slips and drops to the floor. Amazing myself to have had the self-control not to launch a nearly full, steaming hot coffee across the room to cover up my by now long lost modesty, I merely close my eyes and sigh into my cup.
“Here,” Arran flings my boxers over to me, using his toes, as he smirks at me.
After I’ve got myself back into my underwear, and have finished my first coffee and found a hitherto unknown to me inner calm (amazing to find considering I just revealed myself to one of my favorite comic writers. Again!), I start piecing together the rest of the night. And oh boy, I got turnt last night.
“Arran,” I ask, puzzling over one image I can’t quite make sense of. “Why do I feel like I saw a big green dog last night?”
“Oh, that’s because you kind of did. That was Will,” he says, like it makes all the sense in the world. I tilt my head and he continues. “Will is into pup play. We met him at the Condor . You guys got to talking when you complimented him on his pup hood and his, well, on his Prince Albert.”
“He had a Prince with him?” My brain is still not up to speed, I swear to God I’m not usually this dense.
“A PA. The piercing? Wait, do you call it something different here?”
“No, no,” I say, holding up a hand to my head, trying to massage away a returning twinge in there. “It’s the same. Oh man, you really saw me being a total mess.”
“Don’t be daft, you were having fun. And hell, Will is cute. You should definitely take him up on that date.”
“Date?” Arran nods at my phone, and I check my messages. I stick to the most recent, so I don’t scroll down to see that older one. There’s a new number on there that I guess must be Will, which just reads:
Hey, it’s will. Wanna meet up this week?
“Huh,” I say.
“Okay, come on, mister. Can’t spend all of my first weekend in New York in my hotel room. I’m going to shower, then I’m going to walk you home. You wanna shower here, or when you get home?”
“Oh, I’ll shower at home. And you don’t need to walk me home, seriously, it’s all good.”
“No bother. Honestly, gives me something to do beyond the usual tourist stuff, innit.” And with that he heads off into the shower. I finish my coffee, retracing the steps of the night.
Thank god I didn’t hook up with Arran last night. Not that he isn’t really cute, and actually, yeah, any other time I think I totally would, but if we’d done stuff last night, while I’m still trying to work….everything out. I would never have forgiven myself.
“Sorry, I forgot to take my clothes in with me,” Arran snaps me out of it, as we walks into the room in nothing but a towel again. I stare at his thick, broad chest, something I know he’s been proud of working on in the last couple years. He’s been very open about getting his health, both physical and mental, together since the pandemic a couple years back. He pauses as he holds his underwear. “Uh, do you mind if I—?” He nods at his underwear in his hands.
“Oh, no, don’t worry. What’s it between friends at this point, right?” I laugh.
“Ha, guess you’re right. Cheers, it’s steamy as fuck in there now,” and with that he turns, drops his towel and bends over to put on his boxers.
I squirm under the blanket again, waiting for the effect the sight is having on me to go away again.
It’s a beautiful, sunny, warm day, and I hate it. The sun feels like spears in my eyes, and I wish I’d brought my sunglasses. Meanwhile, the sounds of the city have never felt so blaring, and I’m half thinking resting it on the asphalt and letting the next cab run over it might be preferable.
Sorry, I get extremely dark when I’m hungover.
Arran, meanwhile, seems bright and full of energy, and I’m forced to wonder if he’s right that the Welsh are just preternaturally predisposed to handling copious amounts of alcohol. As we walk to my place, we each carry a different energy: I trudge forward like I’m climbing uphill, he is upright, practically bouncing on his heels and looking around at the everyday sights of my neighboring streets.
The subway journey up Manhattan to Harlem was actually a relief, leaving the light of day for a while, even if the train car did smell suspiciously of urine. Though if you looked at Arran’s face, you’d swear it smelled like Heaven’s finest bakery.
“I can’t believe I’m riding the subway!” he whispered at me, with an absurd amount of excitement.
“You rode it last night too,” I mutter back.
“Yeah, but still.”
We get to mine, and he makes a note of the address on his phone.
“Just in case I need to get you home again,” he says.
“Ha. Ha.”
I push open my apartment door, and almost bump immediately into Amanda. She stands at the end of the small hallway, arms folded, and her eyebrow raises into her hairline when she sees Arran behind me.
“And just where have you been, young man?” I open my mouth to tell her that she can’t call me ‘young man’ when we’re actually the same age, before she continues. “And who’s the old man? Please tell me he didn’t take advantage.”
“Amanda!” I yell, spinning on my heel to apologize to Arran, to find him smiling and holding his hands up.
“Hey, I totally get it! I’d be protective of you too, mate. Why do you think I let you sleep in my hotel bed last night.”
“You what now?” Amanda lifts her chin, glaring at Arran.
“Amanda, calm down. This is Arran Wilson, one of the best comic writers around, and an absolute gentleman and a mensch, so stop acting like an overprotective mom and please tell me there’s coffee.”
“Girl, you know around me there is always coffee,” she gives me a fierce stare, and then turns on her massive chunky heel and marches around the corner to the kitchenette.
Inviting Arran in, he compliments us on our apartment, which is sweet of him. We all sit down with fresh coffee (I keep mine black, like my hollowed out soul right now), and I fill Amanda in on how I made an absolute fool of myself yesterday, but Arran was a really sweet guy and looked out for me, when he was supposed to be enjoying his first trip to the States.
“You never could handle your beer,” Amanda says, sitting back in her chair. Flicking her eyes at Arran as she holds her mug to her lips, she mumbles, “Thanks for looking after my boy,” and that’s that.
We spend the rest of the day like that, sharing stories, and Amanda playing the aloof, cold-shoulder card, but I can tell she’s warming to Arran, in her way. After a while, I tell Arran about this great fried chicken place down the street, and we all head over and have dinner. There, I make plans to meet up with Arran again and show him some actual tourist sights so he can say he wasn’t all work when he was in New York.
During a quiet moment, I look at my phone again, thinking about what Arran said, and how I might not have much time to get all aspects of my life in order. I’ve got to get my love life in order, I need to find the one who’ll be there for me to help me through…everything I’m going through. Someone who’ll understand, who’ll be there, but who can also set me back on path when I inevitably go off-track like I always do.
But how will I know who that could be for me? I mean, there’s a few options already. I’d be lying if I said I don’t also include Arran in there, he’s really got his stuff together, maybe he’d want to do that with me too? I have to make the right choice…I know all too well how picking the wrong one can wind up.
And what I remember of Will from last night, the big, green puppy who was…very excitable, shall we say?
I pop open my text messages.
Sure. I’d love that.