Page 76 of Grumpy Bear

Even though I’d only been to Atlanta a few times—a couple of times for concerts when I was in high school and a couple of times for connecting flights, which didn’t really count—a lot of my first impressions of the city felt familiar. The twelve-lane chaos of interstate highways bore a striking family resemblance to LA. It was a quality of cities that made me more anxious than I’d ever admitted out loud to anybody. Like Nashville, Atlanta had that same odd mix of urban and country that made big sprawling Southern cities seem a little two-faced. The shock of skyscrapers appearing in the near distance felt as implausible as a spacecraft landing in the middle of Georgia.

How had I been surrounded by blue mountains less than two hours ago? The quiet woods and scream of cicadas faded like a dream I wasn’t ready to wake up from. If I kept my eyes closed, I could hang on to the memory of the gravel road under the tires of Coleman’s UTV and the feeling of his knee jostling against mine.

I had thought it made more sense to commit to nothing, to keep my options open, to be ready to go at any moment’s notice if an opportunity presented itself. At least, that was the promise I’d made to myself.

Intellectually. In the abstract. When I’d had no other real options.

I was so used to having no options at all, I wasn’t sure I could recognize choices when I had them. And I’d already made this one.

What if this didn’t work out? Or worse, what if I hated it and couldn’t get back? I squeezed the bulge of cash in my pocket, the two hundred and fifty bucks Jim had pulled from a blue bag in the safe.

Brad’s place was a four-story townhouse right on the Beltline in Midtown. All glass and gray wood flooring, quartz countertops and invisible walls with exactly one piece of colorful folk art gracing each white plane. If it weren’t for the sofa and the appliances on the main floor, I would’ve been easily convinced he’d brought me to an art gallery.

If I squinted, I could believe I’d been somehow transported back to Jeremy’s place in Huntington Beach. The superficial similarities between the environments made my stomach clench.

Brad’s partner—husband?—Don, was remarkably quiet and unremarkably handsome. He was a clean cut, middle-aged gay man whose sweatpants and T-shirt looked carefully ironed.

We made polite conversation over bottles of IPA, which made me a little nauseous, then Don graciously mentioned I might be tired and suggested Brad should show me to the guest floor. Not guest room but floor. A suite at the top of the house—bedroom, living room, bathroom, wet bar, kitchenette—with access to a sizable roof deck. The rain had cleared, and low clouds were tearing themselves apart on the spire of the tallest building. It looked like a spear with a glowing amber tip.

The Eye of Sauron.

Brad heard my quiet chuckle even though it had been barely more than a breath. “What?”

“It reminds me of the Tower in Mordor, in The Lord of the Rings.”

“Oh, yeah. Bank of America Plaza. Love those movies! Don and I immediately booked a trip to New Zealand. Have you been? Oh my God. You can visit the sets where they filmed. I hope they make more in the series.”

“Well, they already made all three.” I tried not to sound like I was schooling him. “It’s a trilogy.”

“But then they made all those Hobbit ones,” Brad said with a know-it-all nonchalance.

“True,” I admitted. His cluelessness about Tolkien’s books made me cringe, but it was an accurate statement by Hollywood standards. “Maybe they’ll tackle The Silmarillion.”

“Oh, you know they will.”

I was pretty sure Brad didn’t have any idea what The Silmarillion was. His matter-of-fact way of speaking was unfortunately undermined by his superficiality.

He said he’d leave me to shower and disco nap if I wanted, but I confessed I was too keyed up to sleep.

“Are you nervous about meeting Gary tomorrow? Don’t be! He’s a total sweetheart. He’s dying to meet you. They’re going to love you.”

“I’ll probably try to go to bed early.”

“Of course. You want your beauty rest and all that. God knows we didn’t get any this weekend.” He chuckled wickedly like we were coconspirators. “Make yourself at home. Don’ll probably whip up something simple here in a bit or order takeout. Come back down whenever.”

I felt like a traitor, scrubbing away the last traces of Bear Camp with Kiehl’s body wash and Aveda shampoo. The dark gray towels were sinfully thick and expensive like the pelt of some mythical velveteen panther. For a moment I considered digging out my Bear Mountain Lodge staff shirt. I’d forgotten to give it back like I’d promised. And fuck, Austin’s shoes too. Returning the items had genuinely slipped my mind, but maybe I’d done it subconsciously, and a part of me was glad.

I’d underestimated how tired I was. I barely kept my eyes open during dinner. When Don politely covered a yawn and announced he was retiring, I jumped at the chance to say goodnight and flee back upstairs.

I should have asked for their WiFi password, but how would I even message Coleman? I knew he wasn’t on Facebook or Instagram. I doubted he had any use for Scruff or Grindr, and frankly, the thought of logging on to that whole world in the middle of a gay metropolis was the last thing I wanted to do.

Would he want to hear from me so soon?

I could email the lodge. Jim might see it. He’d said to let him know how things went.

Maybe tomorrow. When I knew something about the audition.

The hotel-quality bedding was tight and cool. The sheets felt exactly like the ones Jeremy had insisted on. If I hadn’t already turned out the lights, I might’ve checked the tags. It wasn’t exactly comforting. It felt like I’d moved backwards, back into the same world I’d escaped from.