Kept Man: Firsts and Forever Stories

He’d set two places across from each other at one end of the table, and he pulled out my chair for me. When I sat down, he opened a bottle of chardonnay and poured me a glass, then excused himself and stepped through a swinging door. I glimpsed a huge kitchen with red lacquer cabinets before the door shut.

While he was gone, I tilted my head back and studied the room in the mirror. What an odd choice.

Micah soon returned with two big bowls of the rice dish, which proved to be delicious. We talked about cooking while we ate. He’d been trying to learn some new techniques by watching YouTube videos, with mixed results.

Once we finished our meal, he said, “I don’t know how long I have left, but can we take a little time to talk before dessert?”

“Absolutely. I’m in no hurry.”

He suggested we sit on the patio, and when we went outside I didn’t quite know what to make of the backyard. There was a brick patio with rattan furniture, bracketed by large terra cotta planters overflowing with plants and flowers. But about ten feet from the house, a line was drawn in yellow chalk. The patio up to that line was swept and tidy. Beyond it, everything was a mess, including a half-dead, overgrown flower bed that spanned the back fence.

I sat on the couch, and Micah sat beside me and tucked one bare foot behind the other before saying, “So, here’s my proposition.” I fully expected him to throw out some hardcore kink. Instead, he said, “I’d like to hire you for an exclusive, six-month contract, ending on January second. The exclusive part is key.”

“What happens on that date?”

“I’m leaving San Francisco and never looking back. I can’t freaking wait.”

I asked, “If you’re so eager to go, why are you sticking around for another six months?”

He exhaled slowly and put both feet flat on the patio. Then he pulled up the leg of his boot-cut jeans, exposing a black device around his right ankle—the type worn by people on house arrest. “This gets removed on January second. I was sentenced to eight months, and I’ve served two so far.” Suddenly, the elaborate cocktails, teaching himself to cook, and the loads of internet shopping made sense. So did the chalk line in the yard. That was probably as far as he could go without setting off some sort of alarm.

I had to ask. “What happened to land you on house arrest?”

“A bar fight.”

“Why would that get you locked down for eight months?”

“Several reasons. I started the fight, the bar owner—my now ex-boyfriend—pressed charges, I punched a man who I didn’t know was an off-duty cop, and also, I acted like a dick in court, so the judge wasn’t feeling particularly lenient. It was all my lawyer could do to keep me out of jail after all of that.”

“Were you drunk when the fight broke out?”

He shook his head. “I was stone-cold sober.”

“How did it start?”

“I went to confront my boyfriend for cheating on me, and things got out of hand.”

“Did you hit him?”

“No. The only reason I hit the cop was because he grabbed me to try to remove me from the scene, and I thought he was attacking me. I never heard him identify himself as a police officer, though he claims he did,” Micah said. “Anyway, when I punched him he staggered back into some other guy, and that set off a chain reaction. A huge fight broke out, and a lot of people got involved. No one was hurt, but there was some property damage.” He seemed embarrassed. “I know this sounds awful, but I swear I’m not a violent person.”

“I believe you.”

“Thank god.” His shoulders sagged with relief.

“Tell me more about your proposal.”

“I want you to spend the next six months here with me, because I can’t take this much isolation. This isn’t just about sex, but that’s definitely part of what I want. I need someone to talk to, someone to sleep beside me, and keep me company. I can’t do this on my own.”

I brushed my hair aside and turned to look at him. “Couldn’t you solve this with a combination of Grindr hookups and asking a friend or family member to come and stay with you?”

The pain in his eyes was intense when he met my gaze. “There’s no one I can ask. I spent years pushing everyone away, and hey, what do you know? It worked. So now, the only people in my life are my lawyer, publicist, accountant—in other words, ones I pay to be there for me. The one exception is my probation officer, and he hates me.”

“There’s still online dating, though. You’re a great-looking guy, Micah. It’s not like you’d have a problem getting people to spend the night with you.”