Chapter 10 – Chapter 10

The next morning, Cal surprised me in the shower. I was thrilled to feel his strong hands hold my stomach and chest from behind and feel his lips on the back of my neck.

"I love you."

"I know. I love you, too."

We muddled toward Spring training, Kate's ultimatum hanging over us like a sword of Damocles. Even while in the throes of passion, I could feel it, separating us.

"I want you to know something," Cal told me, late one night as my head rested on his thigh and his head rested on mine. "I don't regret any of this. Not one bit. I'm really glad you moved to Kansas City."

"I'm glad, too," I answered. I had been, until that moment. As it was in that moment that I knew Cal was going to marry Kate.

He didn't tell me until the very end of Spring training. "Kate's pregnant," he announced, late at night after a particularly randy episode of phone sex.

"How?" I asked, stupidly.

"You know I hate condoms."

I did. Despite Billy Jack and pressing my luck in college, I had allowed Cal to talk me into barebacking. Once I did, I could never convince him to wear a condom again.

"What're you going to do?" I asked.

"We're getting married."

"I figured," I responded, defeated.

"It doesn't have to be the end of us."

"It does."

"Matty Joe, it doesn't. We can keep going like we've been going. I'll be on the road half the year. We can get together whenever you want."

"I feel bad enough about what we've been doing. I can't keep doing it once you're married and a father. I have to be a better person than that. I just have to be."

"I'm afraid I'm not."

"I hope you are."

I'm certain he was crying. "What if I'm not?"

"Then I'm glad I'm finding out now," I thought to myself and almost said aloud. Instead, I offered "Then try to be."

*****

It is far easier to claim strength than to demonstrate it. I was not strong. I didn't yet know it, but I was weak, especially where Cal was concerned.

I knew I deserved more than Cal was offering. I also knew I would yield if he continued to offer it.

When Cal was in Arizona, it was easy. There was nothing to tempt me. He was there, I was not, and there was no issue.

When Spring Training was over, Cal returned to Kansas City and to the floor below me. While the world celebrated the ballplayer and the heiress, Cal tried to convince me what was done was not done.

I gave in. Over and over again. Each time, I told him it was the last time. Like the child whose mother said "I'm not going to ask you again" over and over, he knew I was lying. It's difficult to quit great sex. It's even more difficult when you are deeply, madly, and truly in love with the person with whom you have great sex.

"Don't marry her," I pleaded. "Have a kid with her if you must, but don't marry her."

"I don't want to," he said. "But, I feel like I have to throw the pitch that's been called. If I don't, and the hitter jacks the pitch I want to throw, I'll never hear the end of it."

"It's your life, Cal. You only get one, Shirley McLain be damned. You can't live it in box."

"I feel like I have to."

"You love me, not her."

"I know."

"You want me, not her."

"I know."

"You belong with me, not her."

"I know."

"Then act on what you know."

"I can't," he answered, resignedly and through tears. "I'm not strong enough."

We had the same conversation five ways to Sunday. It always ended the same, with me bound and each of us spent, him filling me and me swallowing him, each of us lachrymose.

Maybe he felt guilty, as he started offering his ass to me more and more frequently. I didn't mind. I didn't think there was an appreciable difference for him when he fucked me versus when he fucked her. I knew she couldn't fuck him. And, I was fucking him good. I learned where his prostate was, and I'd work it with my dick as he writhed under me, his lanky and muscled frame reduced to a series of spasms and twitches.

*****

I had to let Tom in. I couldn't hold it all in. I had to dump it on someone.

"You dirty rat bastard motherfucker," he said. "You've been with Cal Lowden all this time and haven't said a word. The world is going to fucking hate you."

"The world can't know."

"No . . . No . . . No. You can't make me keep this in the vault. You can't . . . can't . . . . can't.'

"You have to. It's a Mathias/Thomas thing. No one else can know."

"Fine. But . . . Fuck you, motherfucker. It's so unfair that you give me the key to the kingdom and then forbid me from using it!"

We spent hours talking through the whole situation. Tom was frivolous in his life, but not in our friendship. He was calm, collected, and cool.

He hit it all spot on. "I get both perspectives," he said. "You two belong together. Duh. But, he can't be with you. Also duh. You can't accept that he can't. Duh times three."

"'Duh' is not an answer."

"Bullshit. It is. The conclusion: It's untenable. You both know what should happen. One of you can't own that and never will. So, it's untenable."

"You're wrong."

"I'm not. The fact you disagree does not make me wrong. I'm right. Like 100% right. He's never going to be who you need him to be. So, your options are either to be you or to be who he's willing to let you be. It's a no brainer. You have to be you."

I knew he was right. But, I hated in the marrow of my bones that he was. I fought against his rightness for days and weeks. My fight led me to Cal's bed and him to mine.

There was no way we were ever going to quit each other so long as I lived thirteen steps from him. If we were going to quit, I needed to be farther away.

By the 4th of July, I had moved to a coach house behind one of the mansions in Hyde Park. It was totally redone, and I loved every bit of it.

After I moved away, I gave Cal the Heisman whenever he suggested we get together. When he sent me a plane ticket, I didn't use it.

My resolve was not strong. By Labor Day, I weakened and allowed him to "see my new place and talk."

He was broodingly handsome. His hair was shorter, but still wild. His face was covered with a thin layer of hear. He looked like Rob Stark would, only with better clothing.

I welcomed him in with a kiss on the cheek. He responded with a kiss on my lips that lasted a little too long and left me wanting when it was over.

There was little talk and lots of action. The moment he put his lips to mine, I was lost. We christened my coach house. He tied my hands to the rails of my headboard. More loosely, he tied my ankles to the same rails. I was exposed and without recourse.

We made love perfectly. He never went too fast or too slow, he never went too hard or too soft. By the time he was ready to finish, my body was aglow and atingle. I felt like I was turning inside out.

We restarted. Cal's wife was pregnant and getting more and more pregnant. While she was, I was flying hither and yon, meeting Cal in Chicago, Cleveland, Detroit, and Minneapolis. When the Royals were at home, I was a pit stop between the K and his home or between his home and whatever errand he pretended he needed to run. I got used to being "on call."

Their first child arrived, a boy named Matthew. I was both troubled and thrilled by the name.

The season ended. Cal was an adoring and adulterous husband and father.

We kept going. The days became months, and the months became years. I spent an inordinate amount of time on Southwest flights, overnighting here and there while Kate nursed Matthew and then Margaret and then Malachai.

I insisted to Tom I was "happy enough." I loved Cal more than I had ever loved anyone. I also hated that it all seemed to be sordid, Cal with his wife and children and with me, waiting for whatever crumbs he could give me when his wife and children were not paying attention.

At the same time, my career took flight. I had more money than I needed. I moved into the Kirkwood with the Lowdens. They were on the top floor. I was halfway between them and the lobby.

I "befriended" Cal. I "befriended" Kate.

I became part of their life. Kate had me to dinner parties and set me up on dates. Like her husband, Kate visited me when she was lonely, not to have sex but for conversation and wine.

Uncomfortably, she talked a lot about Cal and how her marriage to him was not the partnership she wanted. He was cold and distant with her. He had lost his sex drive. They weren't intimate. They were strangers, parenting together.

She wondered if it was his lack of purpose. He had retired from baseball before Malachai was born. Since, he had refused her overtures to join the family business or to do anything else. He was Mr. Mom to three children in three years, only with a nanny that provided him endless freedom to play golf, to go running, or to spend certain afternoons seven floors down.

I couldn't tell Kate that I knew a different Cal. His sex drive was as strong as ever, but we had sex less frequently than when we were younger. Now, I spent as much time with my head resting in his lap, his hand in my hair.

I didn't know the Cal she knew. She no longer knew the Cal I knew.

I spent a decade as the other woman. I may have deserved more, but I couldn't force myself to do anything about it. To Kate, I was Cal's "best friend." We took golf trips together, even though I didn't play golf. We went camping and fishing together, even though I hated both. We went hiking together, even though I got altitude sickness on the deck of Cal's condo.

When I turned forty-five, Tom threw me a "When He's Old, He Shall Wear Purple" party. He bought and forced me to wear a purple pantsuit, like it was 1975 and I was Carly Simon.

Cal and Kate showed to the party. Cal was unhappy to be there. Within minutes, he told me that forty-five was not an "event birthday" and that my "outfit" was ridiculous. It was clear he was Jonesing for discord, but I didn't know why. When I refused to give in to his "we need to talk," he left in a huff. Kate stayed behind. In fact, Kate and Tom were the last two at the party. The three of us drank and drank on my balcony, which faced east.

Kate talked generically about Cal while looking at me. I thought maybe she was trying to gauge my reaction. Either way, I had the sense the yarn was unraveling.

"Maybe he's gay," Tom wondered aloud, shocking me.

Kate looked right at me. "I've wondered that myself. . . . In fact, I asked him today, and he denied it. What do you think, Matthias?"

Kate always used my full Christian name.

"I don't know," I stuttered.

"I think you know more than you let on," she accused.

"He just might," added Tom, goading her and pissing me off.

"If you know something I should know, Matthias. Please tell me. Be fair to me. I feel like no one's being fair with me. I asked Cal today about you and him, and he played stupid. I'm not stupid. I see things. You may not be lovers, but it's clear you're in love."

"Kate," I answered. "I think this is a conversation you should have with Cal."

"I knew it. Please, Matthias, say it out loud."

"I can't."

"For how long?" she asked.

"You're going to hate me."

"I won't, Cal. I've known for a long time. Well . . . I haven't known. But, I've suspected . . . to the point of knowing. Your emergence made no other sense."

"Years . . . . Since before you got married."

Tears welled in her eyes, and she leaned her head back. "I thought you might say that," she finally conceded.

"I'm sorry, Kate. I really am."

"No, you're not," she answered.

"You're really not," added Tom, drawing my glare.

"You're both right. I'm not. If I was, I'd have quit. I tried, but I couldn't. He tried, too. He couldn't, either."

The room was fraught. No one said a word until Kate announced "I'm not mad. I'm really not. I'm just sad. I pretended to be ignorant. I wasn't, but I pretended to be."

"Contrary to what they say, ignorance is not bliss," Tom offered.

I wanted to murder him. I wanted him to shut up, and murder seemed the only option.

"How could you do it?" she asked, staring directly at – and through – me. "Befriend me. Befriend my children. All while you were fucking my husband and their father."

I didn't think it was time to point out he was fucking me way more frequently than I was fucking him. He was, but it seemed beside the point.

"I don't know," I said. "I'm ashamed." I was. I hadn't been. But, I was.

"I suspected," she admitted. "I did. But I thought I was crazy. He was a ballplayer. When I met him, he had a reputation as a ladies' man. We had a lot of sex, especially until we had children. He ate my pussy. He fucked the shit out of me. He got me pregnant. He was a great father. When I put it all in context, I thought I was being paranoid."

"You weren't," Tom added, unhelpfully.

"I'm leaving him," she said, matter of factly. "I'm taking my children and my money and I'm leaving him." She looked at me. "He's yours if you want him."

I do, I thought to myself. More than anything.

I couldn't say anything. I was a witness to my own unmasking.

"I can't be friends with you, Matthias, if we ever were friends, in this grotesque grotesqueness you two concocted. In fact, I don't want to see you ever again, much less speak to you."

"I understand," I said. I did. I had been horrible to her. I deserved whatever approbation came my way.

She left without saying good-bye.

"Holy shit," Tom said, once she'd gone.

"You were no help," I accused.

"I was. It was clear she knew. I didn't want you to lie to her. It would've only made it worse."

"Still."

"I'm sorry, MJ. But, she knew. And, she deserved to know what she knew. You know it as well as I do. The jig was up. It was time to come clean."

He was right. She knew, and she'd have seen through any attempt I made to cloud what she knew.

*****

Cal was banging on my door the next morning before I had sobered up, much less recovered from the hangover headed my way. Half asleep, I opened the door to his blind rage. Through the purple haze that shrouded my mind, I was accused of being narcissistic and selfish, of ruining his life, of destroying his image and his marriage, of compromising his ability to be a father to his children, and of being a "destructive faggot."

I said nothing in response. I wanted to explain how what had happened had happened, and remind him he was finally free to be who he was (and with me). Instead, I stood there silently, trying to gauge through the buzzing in my mind whether I wanted what I could finally have.

He filled the silence. He told me I'd regret the destruction I had wreaked in his life and that he never wanted to see me again. He slammed the door as I stood there, silently and marveling at what the last twelve hours had wrought.

I, in fact, never saw him again. Moving vans emptied the Lowden penthouse that day. By nightfall, there was no trace of them. They had vanished, Kate and the children one way and Cal another.

I should have been mad at Tom for pushing me to disclosure. But, I wasn't. I had been complicit in a giant game of deceit, and it would have been hypocritical of me to be angry at the friend who forced me to stop playing.

*****

Years later, when I was happily married and looking forward, not backward, I found Cal online. His Facebook page was unattended, so I messengered him.

Hey,

It's been so long. Where are you and what are you up to?

Matthias

I was surprised to receive a response. He was in Tucson. He was a minor league pitching coach. He was still on the down low. As it always had, baseball continued to oppress him.

"I'm sorry for how I reacted. It was out of fear, not anger. I know what happened wasn't your fault. I knew it then, but couldn't admit it."

"I wonder," he added, "where we'd be if, instead of being angry, I'd have been relieved. I wish I had been. I wish I had taken you in my arms, told you how much I loved you, and told you how excited I was to spend my life with you. I wanted to. I just couldn't. I'm happy, but I regret every day I'm not happy with you."

I, too, wondered. Don't we always wonder when we've loved and lost what would've happened if, when we loved, we hadn't lost?