Out in the Field (Out in College 4)

I frowned in confusion. “Huh? Are we talking about the dark or dick now?”

“We’re talking about dick…in the dark,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“One of my personal favorite subjects. Go on. Tell me all about it.”

“Okay.” Phoenix stopped abruptly and raised his hands like he was going to make a grand proclamation. Then he busted up laughing. “I have nothing to report. I’ve been a monk for ages. Thank God for my right hand and my trusty dildo collection. How about you?”

I snickered. “Same.”

“How is that possible? You’re a sports person.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Oh, come on. Guys like you snap your fingers and get whatever you want. Including sex.” He sipped his cocktail and fixed me with an expectant look. “Am I right or am I right?”

“The term is athlete, not ‘sports person,’ wise guy. And no, it’s not that simple. I mean, maybe it was when I had a boyfriend, but I’ve been very single since November, and—”

“Why did you break up?” Phoenix interrupted.

“A million reasons. I’d wanted out for a while.”

“Why? I know I’m being nosy, but I’m kinda curious.”

I shrugged. “We were each other’s beards. We got to the point where we were all sex and no substance. Sometimes he wanted the relationship. Other times, he wanted his freedom. He made up games to give both of us room to experiment if we wanted, but he’d get pissed when another guy talked to me. And he was crazy jealous of my ex. He was just unhappy in general. I didn’t realize how fucking tense I was until he was gone and I could breathe again. In some ways, it’s a relief to be single.”

“Except for the ‘solo sex’ part?”

“Yeah, that part kinda sucks,” I admitted. “Were you and the tall guy lovers?”

Phoenix sighed. “We didn’t get far.”

“Well, that’s the problem, then.”

“I don’t think so. I’m glad we didn’t. I’d rather be friends, and it’s almost impossible to be both.”

“Wrong. My ex is my best friend.”

He gave me a “What the fuck?” look. “I thought you hated him.”

I chuckled. “Different ex.”

“Oh.”

We were quiet for a moment. We shared his drink in silence as we ambled along the sidewalk toward the party. Occasional bits of conversation and laughter drifted our way, but we were far enough from the action that the excess noise didn’t penetrate our cocoon. We were just a couple of strangers in the dark again, minus the club music and lights and unrealistic hopes from the first time. I didn’t know about Phoenix, but this felt cathartic somehow. Like a fresh start.

“This is nice,” I blurted.

Phoenix flashed a sweet sideways grin. “It is nice. I tend to get a little blue on the night of the final performance. The anticlimactic feeling sucks, but it’s the nature of the beast. The cycle of slowly learning lines and getting to know your castmates is followed by long rehearsals where everything starts to gel. The excitement builds before the shows and everyone gets better and better and then…boom! It’s over. All that momentum and all the joy that comes from being part of something special disappears overnight. I’m gonna wake up in the morning back at square one.”

“That’s depressing.”

“Thus the vodka.” Phoenix raised his cup and took a sip before passing it to me with a lopsided smile. “It’s just part of the process. I’ve been doing some version of this for years. You’d think I’d be better at transitioning from high to low.”

“Hmm. It’s kinda the same in baseball. When we start in January, most of the guys are out of shape and out of sync. We have to get used to a new crew and figure out how to work together. By the time our season ends in May, we’re a well-oiled machine. I’m not always sad when it’s over. Sometimes I really need the break. But by June, I miss it. The best thing to do is to stay in the game as much as possible. Play, watch, read stats. There’s probably a theater equivalent.”

“Sure. It’s called ‘get a new part.’ I’m already memorizing the script for the spring production at the Arts Center. They’re doing Chicago. God, I love that show. So many juicy roles. ‘And all that jazz,’ ” he sang that last line before skipping ahead of me then turning in a dramatic circle so his coat billowed around him. I chuckled as I closed the distance.

“Who do you want to be?” I asked. “I mean…in the play.”

“In a perfect world, I’d be Roxie. But…I have a dick, so I’ll have to audition for Billy and pretend not to be crushed when they give me the role of Prison Guard or Mafia Henchman Number Two.”

“Why can’t you be Billy?” I asked.

“I’m not sure I have the right look, but I’m gonna dye my hair again and give it a shot. Maybe lighter, maybe darker. I don’t know yet.”