almost 。 。 。 handsome。 Was it totally gay to think that？ Dan felt his stomach lurch。 There was
something unfortably familiar about this scene： sitting on the couch； the warmth and weight of
another body next to his； a cerebral documentary on the screen。What did this remind him of？
What？ Orwho ？
Dan might have been totally clueless； but he knew what was ing next： the lights were turned
down low； the television was alive with stories of rollicking； devil…may…care out…law writers； the
evening was warm； the couch was cozy： there was only one way this could end； and that was with
a make…out session。
Anothermake…out session； to be more specific。
？I can？t see very well。 Can you？？ Dan reached to his left and switched on the chipped ceramic
table lamp； helping to break the room？s romantic mood a little。
？Now I can see you better。？ Greg smiled coyly at Dan。
？Right。？ Dan took the oversize plastic bowl off of his lap and wedged it into the small space
between him and Greg。 ？That should give you easier access；？ he explained。
Dan patted at his pockets anxiously。 He was dying for a cigarette 。。。but did he dare risk it？ Dan
was pretty sure there was nothing sexier than smoking： the little burst of flame as you struck the
match； the languorous exhale of long plumes of smoke。 He didn？t want to send Greg the wrong
message。
Yeah； we all love smoker？s breath。 Not。
There were a few minutes of silence； during which Dan tried to focus on the television but
couldn？t stop monitoring Greg？s every movement in his peripheral vision。 Greg kept running his
hand over his soft blond crew cut and chewing on his slightly chapped bottom lip。
？You don？t like the movie？？ Greg caught Dan？s eye。 He reached for the remote control and
turned the volume down enough to make the television nothing more than ambient background
noise。
？No； no； it？s not that；？ Dan stammered。 ？I was just 。 。 。 thinking about what we should do at our
next salon meeting。？
？I think we should do the Beats。？ Greg pulled his feet up onto the couch and rested his chin on
his knees。 He had a layer of soft…looking blond stubble on his face。 We could even screen this
documentary。。。。I mean； if you want to。？
Dan looked at the black…and…white footage of a couple of shirtless poets drinking bottles of beer
and smoking cigarettes。 He nodded miserably。 There was no use fighting fate； was there？ He was
gay now？everywhere he turned there were signs from the universe telling him to just go with it。 So
why couldn？t he just put his arm around Greg？s shoulders and nuzzle into his neck？ It didn？t seem
wrong； but it didn？t seem quite right； either。
？Kerouac！ Christ； it just doesn？t get any better； does it？？ Apparently； Rufus Humphrey had
entered the room unob…served。 He was standing behind the couch； breathing over their heads。
Thank goodness for nosy dads。
Rufus leaned in to murmur in Dan？s ear。 ？It was a different time； I tell you。We didn？t have any
regard for rules or the rigid definitions of society。 We all just 。 。 。 were。 You know what I mean？？
？Sounds amazing；？ Greg agreed； leaning in closer to Dan。 He smelled like popcorn and laundry
detergent。 He smelled delicious。 In a nongay way。
？Dad！ Join us！？ Dan jerked away； grabbing onto the sofa？s arm as though it were a life preserver。
He grabbed the bowl of popcorn and patted the empty space on the couch。 ？Plenty of room for one
more！？
？Really？？ Rufus exclaimed。Then； in a surprisingly graceful move for such a massive man； he
leapt over the back of the couch and landed squarely between the two boys。 ？Don？t mind if I do！？
Dan exhaled。 He？d never been so happy to see his dad before。 ？Yeah； watch with us。 And maybe
after you can tell us all your stories about the good old days？？
Rufus studied his son suspiciously。 His neon green tank top was pulled tight over his belly and
tucked into a pair of Dan？s navy blue school gym shorts。 ？You want to hear my old stories？？
？Definitely。？ Dan nodded excitedly。 ？I？m sure Greg does too！？
？Sure。？ Greg nodded politely。
？Yes； tell useverything。 ？ Dan smiled。 His dad？s stories were always endless and nonsensical。
And totally unromantic。
let？s get it on
？So。？ Blair exhaled sexily； her voice husky and low。 She？d lost count of how many cocktails
she？d had； but she felt pletely sober now。I love you。 I love you。 He loved her。 She leaned back
on the pale yellow Frette pillows on the bed in the van der Woodsens？ quiet master suite。 The
pumping music downstairs and the sounds of drunken revelers outside were hushed by the gentle
hum of the A/C。
？So。？ Nate stood at the foot of the bed； grinning at her excitedly。 His cheeks were flushed and his
green eyes gleamed。 He shifted his weight from foot to foot； looking more like he was waiting in
line for the bathroom than waiting to pounce on her。
Blair patted the soft feather duvet beside her。 ？Get over here；？ she said with a knowing smile。
Yes； ma？am。
Nate kicked off his gray…blue canvas deck shoes and leapt up onto the bed。 He bounced
tentatively to check if the ceiling was high enough for him to jump up and down without hitting
his head。Then he started bouncing around crazily。
？Stop！ Stop！？ Blair shrieked。 She stood up and took Nate？s hands； and they bounced together
like a couple of demented； overgrown kids。
Then Nate stopped bouncing； suddenly serious。 ？So； um； does this mean something？？
Blair held on to his hands； swinging them from side to side。 ？Mean something？？ she asked。 ？As
in； are we back together？？
Nate shrugged his shoulders。 ？Yeah。？
Blair blushed again； more deeply this time。 ？Well； we better be； because I love you too。？ Nate
grinned and took a bouncy step forward so that his chin brushed her forehead。 Blair tipped her
head back。 His gold…flecked green eyes sparkled。 And then he kissed her。
It wasn？t like they had a lot more to say。
n knows a desperate housewife when he sees one
？Nate？ Naaa…te？ Whereare you hiding； my little goose…berry？？
That muffled； far…off cry made the fine sun…bleached hairs on the back of Nate Archibald？s
tanned neck stand straight up。 He？d purposely chosen the dingy but deserted attic of Coach
Michaels？s house for a quick escape from yet another day of indentured servitude in the
not…so…fashionable part of Long Island。
Escape； of course； meaning escape to stoned land。 Inhale THC； exhale CO2。
He took a long drag from the freshly rolled joint and blew a plume of warm； dry smoke out the
small half…window； straining to hear where the voice was ing from。 The voice in question
belonged to Patricia； also known as ？Babs；？ Coach Michaels？s ever…present and usually
sun…bathing…topless…by…the…pool wife。 Nate had been working at the Michaelses？ Hampton Bays
house since graduation？or in his case； semigraduation； since he hadn？t yet received his diploma；
due to a now…infamous Viagra…stealing incident。 And while Babs had always been
friendly？bringing him tall glasses of lemon…infused ice tea as he guided the lawnmower over
Coach？s beloved lawn； urging him to eat a slice of buttery cinnamon toast when he showed up in
the morning； bleary…eyed and ready for work？for the past two days she？d been 。 。 。 well；extra
friendly。 He might have been stoned most of the time； but he was with it enough to notice that
Babs Michaelsdefinitely had a thing for him。
Doesn？t everyone？
Nate paused and focused all his energy on listening to the quiet house； but the only noise he
heard was the pounding of his stoned； nervous heart。 He brought the joint back up to his lips and
paused？maybe the pot was making him paranoid； but he thought he heard something。 It sounded
like footsteps ing closer。
Shit！Nate hastily stubbed the joint out on the rough wooden windowsill； sending a shower of
sparks onto the floor。 Great？not only was he about to get caught smoking a joint on the job； he was
going to burn the fucking house down in the process。 He tucked the roach into his pocket？ no
sense wasting it？and frantically fanned the smoke out the open window。
？Are you up here； Nate？？ Babs？s voice boomed from the bottom of the attic stairwell。 ？Do I
smell something 。 。 。illegal？ You know； I was a teenager once； too？not so long ago！？
Nate was still waving his hands frantically when Babs emerged from the top of the stairs。 A sly
smile spread across her wrinkled； slightly sun…burnished face。 Her dyedred hair was pulled back in
a sloppy ponytail。 A halo of auburn frizz puffed out around her forehead。
？There you are。？ Babs sighed。 ？Didn？t you hear me calling for you？？
Nate shook his head； suddenly very concerned about how stoned he was。
？Well；？ she continued； strolling toward him； past the piles of cardboard boxes and all the old toys
and junk that she and the coach had stored up there。 ？You know what my husband said： while he？s
out of town； you？remine。 ？
？Y…y…yeah；？ stammered Nate。 Coach was away at some lacrosse conference in Maryland for the
week； probably learning new techniques in torturing high school boys。 Nate was suddenly
panicked he hadn？t pletely put out the joint。 Were his pants going to catch fire？
Yikes。
？The thing is； Nate；？ Babs went on； idly tracing the handle…bars of a rusted Schwinn bike that
was hanging from the ceiling； ？I need a hand。 Do me a little favor； will you？？
？？Course。？ he nodded。 ？That？s what I？m here for。？
？Well； this particular favor might be outside of your regular job description；？ she admitted。 ？But
if you？d be so kind as to help me out； maybe I won？t mention anything about the fact that my attic
smells like a Grateful Dead concert。 What do you say？？
What can you say to blackmail？
？I？m 。 。 。 I？m sorry；？ Nate stumbled。 ？It won？t happen again。？
Babs laughed。 ？You can？t possibly expect me to believe that。？ She smiled； pushing past the
upside…down bike toward Nate； who was still hunched by the window。 ？But never mind。 I need a
hand； and you？ve got two。？ She took his now…callused hands in hers； examining them。 ？Two very
capable； strong hands。？
Nate wondered if he shouldn？t warn Coach that his kids might not look like him