Peripheral Visions: I Forget Myself

Peripheral Visions: They coalesce in the soft blur of darkest shadows and take shape in the corner of your eye. But you won't see them coming... until it's too late.

I Forget Myself

Janusz had just told Benny about the offer from the company. Benny, instantly deep in thought about what it would mean for them, started to turn away from the countertop on the kitchen island where he was chopping celery in order to ask a few questions ("When?" being top of the list).

But the room he found himself in wasn't his familiar kitchen in Lisbon. And the man he was looking at wasn't his husband.

Matt, he thought.

The last time he'd seen Matt was at the end of his junior year in college. Matt had been a year ahead of him. Come graduation day, Matt had introduced his parents to Benny, and the two had shared an awkward, rushed, artificially casual farewell.

A letter... one of only three or four that Matt sent him... apologized for the situation, but, Matt explained in the letter, his mother was starting to suspect he might be gay, and he was terrified of letting his parents see how much Benny meant to him.

Not that Benny meant so much to Matt that Matt did anything to stay in touch.

There had been a pain in Benny's heart for years afterwards – an emptiness that a proper goodbye might have eased, or that a gradual, long-distance ending to their relationship could have filled in.

Like sand, he had sometimes thought. Sand blowing into a pit dug in the desert. Grain by grain, sand fills in the holes and then one day there's nothing left, just the uninterrupted landscape...

But no; that pit had remained a blight on his psyche for more than twenty years – well into his marriage to Janusz – before he'd felt it was scarred over.

But here they were, forty-odd years later, in a room with generous floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of... Benny squinted out the window at the bright day. Was that Los Angeles spread out below?

"Allan?" Matt asked. "Is something wrong?"

Does he mean me? Benny wondered, more confused than ever.

"Allen?" Matt crossed the room, which, Benny realized, was some sort of media center. There was an overstuffed couch and a scattering of armchairs, all of them large and luxurious looking. One wall was taken up with a series of shelves organized around an alcove where a high-tech stereo system was nested: Turntable, CD player, dual tape deck. The shelves were full of LPs and CDs, and flanked by two massive speakers.

Looking back toward Matt and then at the opposite wall, Benny saw that the couch and chairs faced a mammoth flat-screen television mounted above a low, long shelving system that accommodated a similar mix of video playback equipment: A 4K player, what looked like a Laserdisc machine, and – as if in echo of the tape player – a dual-system VCR. The shelves, in this case, were crowded with DVD cases sitting cheek-by-jowl with (and incongruously taller than) Blu-ray and 4K cases.

It was a man cave de luxe.

It was also, he somehow knew, a necessity for Matt's work as a producer in TV and film.

"I'm just a little dizzy," he told Matt, knowing with the same mysterious certainty that he'd used this excuse before.

"Vertigo again? Head rush?" Matt looked concerned.

The men stared at each other for a wordless moment. Matt was as handsome as he had been in college. His face had lines, but no wrinkles; his eyes were youthful, bright and unhooded, and his jawline firm. Had he had plastic surgery? But, no; again, with mysterious, unbidden knowledge, Benny knew that Matt's exercise and diet regimen, plus good genetics, kept him looking young even now, in his sixties.

And I'm only a year younger, Benny thought. Am I in such good shape, too?

"You need to sit down?" Matt asked.

Benny looked at one of the luxurious armchairs. It seemed inviting. He was about to answer that, yes, sitting down might be a good idea when suddenly he was back in Lisbon, in the apartment he and Janusz had lived in for eight... almost nine... years.

"Benny?" Janusz asked. "Are you all right?"

"I'm... a little dizzy," Benny said, knowing that he'd used the same excuse on more than one occasion.

Janusz looked unconvinced, but he said, "Do you want to lie down for a minute? Or at least have a drink of water?"

Benny waved him off and turned back to the cutting board and the celery. "I'm fine. Didn't eat lunch. So, the best thing to do is finish making dinner. It'll only be a little while longer..."

Janusz didn't hover. He had to take a call on his cell. With one last look of concern at Benny, Janusz retreated into the spare bedroom he used as an office.

***

That night, with Janusz sound asleep, Benny lay wide awake and thought over the discussion they'd had about the pros and cons of leaving Portugal for New Zealand. Benny was excited at the prospect, but also uneasy. It had taken a long time to feel at home here – to build a network of friends and feel he understood how to live in and move through Portuguese society. The language had been more of a challenge than he'd expected. He thought that being fluent in French would make it easy to pick up Portuguese, but that was far from the case. Too bad we didn't come here when we were younger, he thought. Those two years in France were enough to pick up the language; we've been here so long and still, sometimes, I feel unsure about what I'm saying...

Maybe they ought to have stayed in the States. But even before the 2024 elections it was clear that the country was not going to pull out of the fascist fever dream it had fallen into. If anything, in spite of the reprieve the country had won in 2020, American society and politics were sinking even faster into chaos and brutality.

The '26 midterms were another disappointment, but elections in the U.S. had degenerated into such a crazy quilt of restrictions and gerrymandered districts – and the open intimidation of voters by armed right-wing militias was so overtly encouraged by police and elected officials alike – that there was no such thing as "free and fair" in the process any longer. They didn't even wait to see what would happen in '28, because by then the U.S. had followed Hungary, Poland, and Israel in subjugating the courts to the whims and the overriding might of the executive branch. In other words, the president now not only could veto bills sent to his desk by congress; he could also veto the rulings of the Supreme Court.

Not that he needed to. The Supreme Court was ever reliable about giving the president and big business everything they wanted.

No, they couldn't have stayed in the U.S., Benny thought. Moving abroad in their fifties had been hard in many ways, but neither he nor Janusz felt there was much of a choice.

Still, he mulled, if they'd stuck it out –

Benny jolted awake, filled with panic as he realized he was about to plough into the back of the vehicle in front of him. He stomped on the brake pedal and came to a halt just shy of crashing into the other car. The jackass behind him, who had been tailgating, blared his horn.

"Jesus," Benny muttered, his heart pounding.

He heard a whimper and looked at the passenger seat, where a plastic dog carrier sat. A white face with moist brown eyes peered back at him from within the carrier's confines.

"Aw, sorry, Gracie," he apologized to the dog. "It's not bad enough you had to go to the vet today, you also had a rough ride. Didn't you, sweetheart?"

Gracie whined again.

"It's okay," he soothed her. "We'll be home soon." Then, looking out the windshield at the traffic – which wasn't moving – he added: "I hope."

Benny jolted awake again – this time in his own bed.

"Benny? You okay?" Janusz asked sleepily.

"Restless leg," he said. "Woke me up."

"Me too," Janusz said accusingly, but before Benny could apologize to his husband, Janusz was snoring again.

***

Benny apologized to Janusz the next morning as they drank coffee from bowls and nibbled rolls.

"I don't even remember," Janusz said. "Was it a leg cramp?"

"No, it weas one of those body spasms you have, like when you dream you're tripping over something or falling down the stairs."

"Were you having a dream about something like that?"

"No... I was having a dream about driving a car on a Los Angeles freeway."

"That would wake me up, too," Janusz said, before slurping noisily at his coffee.

"But the thing is, I was wide awake. I mean, I don't remember falling asleep."

"I never remember falling asleep. And obviously it was a dream, right? So you fell asleep without realizing it."

"I guess so," Benny said. But that didn't explain his waking dream about being with Matt in a big house in the hills overlooking LA. He wondered if he should tell Janusz about that, but felt as if he shouldn't; Janusz had been more than a little jealous in the early years of their relationship about how deeply he still loved and missed Matt.

"Actually, I was lying awake for quite a while, thinking about New Zealand," Benny said.

"What were you thinking?"

"Well, I mean... what do you think about it? You want to retire in just a few years, right?"

"Well, I could be just as happy working longer than I was planning to," Janusz said. "I mean, I don't have to retire when I'm 67. And with a move someplace new... and some exciting possibilities at work..."

"Why aren't they offering this to someone younger?" Benny asked.

"Ouch!" Janusz said. "I don't know what part of my pride should be hurt most by that."

Benny grinned at him. "You know what I mean. Transnational corporations usually want to keep their upper echelons stocked with young guns, don't they?"

"To a certain point," Janusz said. "But they also know not to rob themselves of experienced, effective personnel. And the New Zealand thing... well, they just feel it would be a good fit. They aren't worried that I'll only work another eight or ten years. They're thinking more along the lines of getting the New Zealand office up and running and well established, and that's more of a four- or five-year thing. They're not looking for a twenty-year commitment. And putting off retirement for a few years? No sweat, really. Worth it for a little more in the bank."

Janusz looked at his watch and slurped at his coffee again. Setting the bowl down, getting to his feet, and drawing on his suit jacket, Janusz added, "For me, it comes down to this: Retire in Portugal? Or make the move, work a few more years, and retire in New Zealand?" He gave Benny a significant look. "You're the one who's always talking about how democracies are falling like dominoes. You tell me what you think the best option would be."

Benny knew exactly what his husband was referring to; European countries weren't faring too well these days, but New Zealand had clung to its democratic traditions with proud defiance.

"Got to go," Janusz added, needlessly; his haste communicated it well enough. Benny ducked in for a quick kiss before Janusz was off, racing up the hallway toward the door and plucking up his briefcase as he went.

I really should get him a courier bag, Benny thought, mulling how much easier it that would make it for his husband to carry his papers and slate and whatever else he felt he had to haul around.

Setting the bowls in the sink and then pouring more coffee into a cup, Benny made his way to his desk, which sat in the corner of the living room near the door to the balcony. It was a beautiful day outside, he saw, looking down at the quiet street and the flower shop across the way. The door was the sort that switched from swinging open on hinges to leaning open from the top, converting into a window with a twist of the handle. Benny opened the window and welcomed the morning's cool air, which smelled of early summer.

Sitting at his desk, he started to review the things he wanted to get done today...

...and found himself at a very different desk, in a very different room, talking to a major movie star. "That's really all it comes to," he heard himself saying.

The movie star... Brad Sterling was the stage name he used, but when it was just the two of them Benny used his real name, calling him Brett – was nodding. "I like that," he said. " 'Everything I need, I have inside me right now.' Instead of, 'Oh my god, I'm an imposter, I'm gonna forget my lines again, I'm gonna die of fright if I have to speak in public.' Just relax."

"Yes," Benny said. "Relax. That's a good way to put it."

"You're the best, Allan," Brett told him.

Allan? Benny wondered. But why did that sound strange? It was his name, after all...

Brett was on his feet, reaching to retrieve his stylish courier bag. "By the way," he said, "my niece loved your books."

"Oh, did she? I'm so happy to hear that."

"She's already asking when the next one in the series will be coming out."

"Well... I'm not so sure."

"You don't know the story, or...?"

"I'm not sure I want to write any more in that series. I've been thinking of something more geared for adults."

"If it helps inspire you," Brett said, adjusting the bag's strap over his expensive looking T-shirt, "I gave that second set of copies to Ernest Olango."

"You – Ernest Olango?"

"You knew we're prepping a movie together," Brett said.

"Well, yeah, but..."

"Come on, now, you didn't give me that second set of copies for my own reading pleasure," Brett grinned.

"Well... it was for your reading pleasure, but..."

"Yeah?" Brett was still smiling his megawatt move star smile.

"Okay, you saw right through me," Benny confessed. "But Ernest Olango!"

"He loved the books even more than my niece does," Brett said. "He wants to do a CGI adaptation of the first one. Or maybe combine the first two or three books into one movie."

"They're very different..."

"I don't know how he wants to treat the story, but in style he's thinking about what Spielberg did with 'Tintin,' " Brett said.

Benny laughed, delighted but also feeling foolish for how overtly excited he was. "That's... that's great," he said – lame, but all he could come up with. His mind was buzzing.

Brett smiled at him. "Least I could do for my favorite life coach and spiritual adviser," he said. "Especially since your big shot producer husband won't help you get your stuff into the right hands."

"In his defense, he's not that big of a big shot," Benny said.

Brett paused, his eyebrow raised. "Ouch," he said. "That's not much of a defense."

Benny slapped a hand over his mouth as if mortified at his words, but it couldn't hide his smile. Then the two of them burst out laughing.

"See ya Thursday," Brett said.

***

"Something wrong with your fish?" Benny asked.

Janusz was picking at the white flesh. He set the fork down and then squeezed more lemon juice over his dinner. But he didn't take a bite; he just went back to picking.

"Still thinking about New Zealand?" Benny said. "I thought you were kind of settled on wanting to go."

"Well, I do," Janusz said. "But then I have a day like today, with old man Perne above me asking for things that aren't my responsibility, and young guys like Kelley below me, making snide comments and insinuating I'm not keeping up with my responsibilities. And the thing is, a promotion would mean more of this sort of shit."

"Really? I thought you'd get a little insulated from all that," Benny said.

"I wish." Janusz made a visible effort to brighten up. "Sorry, I shouldn't be brooding at the dinner table. How about your day? Make some progress?"

"Progress?" Benny asked vaguely.

"On the new book? 'Benny in Lisbon.' Or are you still thinking you don't want to do that one yet?"

"Well, it's a little on the nose, right?"

"Why?" Janusz asked. Only, it wasn't his voice. And the light was suddenly different. Benny looked up, and saw Matt... and, behind him, more of those gigantic windows offering a view of Los Angeles spread out below.

Benny glanced down at the plate. Not fish; steak, with asparagus and potatoes.

"Something wrong?" Matt asked. "Is there a hair in your food? Want me to call Agnes in?"

"No... no, she did a great job, just like she always does."

"Not hungry?" Matt asked.

Benny set his fork down. "Just a little distracted." His eye moved to the glass of inky red wine that sat near his plate. He took hold of the stem, then raised the glass to his lips. The aroma was wonderful.

"But you're thirsty," Matt said.

"Come on, now," Benny said. "I'm not your dad. I don't drink too much. And I do want my dinner, it's just that my digestion isn't great these days."

"It is a book," Matt said. "I know how you get when you're at a certain point in the writing process. But you're too far along in the one you've been working on to get so uptight about it, so it must be that new one you said you were thinking about. 'Benny in the South Seas,' right?"

"Well, actually, I'm still deciding if that's next," Benny said. "I'm just reworking the ending of 'Benny in Lisbon.' "

"I thought it was 'Benny in Belgium,' " Matt said.

"I've been reworking more than just the ending," Matt said. "When I get this one in, that fulfills my contract, and if I want to write more, I'll have to sign on for... three more? Four? I doubt I can negotiate fewer than that."

"I'd love to read all of them," Matt said, sounding more like his usual supportive self now than he had when he made the crack about the wine. "And now that Brad Sterling is getting Ernest Olango to make a movie out of your books, you know there's going to be a market for more."

"If I still have any of those stories left in me," Benny fretted. "After nine books, how much more is in that same old well?"

"At least one," Matt said, "and from what you've told me about it, it sounds terrific."

Benny picked at a potato, then came out with it: "Then why did I have to get Brett to shill my stuff for me?"

"Ah, I see." Matt sighed. "It's not easy, you know? People would assume I was trying to promote your stuff just because we're married. And I do promote it, but not by shoving copies of your books in everyone's hands."

"No, I wouldn't want to you shove my stuff on anyone," Benny said, reaching for the wine glass again.

"Hey," Matt said. "Come on, now. By staying out of your way, I'm actually helping push your career forward."

Benny shrugged.

"I mean, producers have a bad rep when it comes to the stuff their husbands or wives come up with. I have to let you break through on your own. And then..." Matt smiled. "You won't need my help anyway."

Benny gave him a hurt look.

"Okay," Matt said. "I get it. I know. But you understand, right?"

"Yeah," Benny said. "I understand."

"And I'll make it up to you."

"You don't owe me anything."

"I wouldn't create art out of obligation, but because I want to... and because it would please you," Matt said, and the elaborate introduction clued Benny in that, whatever Matt had to tell him, he was genuinely excited. "You know that book you loved as a kid, the one you're always saying I should turn into a movie?"

" 'The Forgotten Door?' "

"How about I see if I can get something going there?"

"Really? I'd love to see a proper big-budget production for that. I mean, I loved the British TV version, but it was... I mean..."

"Charming," Matt said. "But cheap. And, by now, dated."

Benny laughed, feeling better. "So dated," he agreed.

After dinner, Matt suggested they relax in the pool. He swam a couple of laps as Benny stood to the side, watching him. They didn't bother with swimsuits; why should they? There was no one to see them but themselves. Matt saw Benny watching and smiled. Making his way over, he said, "You still think I'm hawt?

"You're' certainly well-preserved," Benny said. "I need to work out as much as you do, or I'm gonna start to wish for plastic surgery."

"A tragedy," Matt said.

"Like every other Hollywood spouse," Benny said.

Matt found his way to Benny and put his arms around him. Their wet skin rubbed together.

"We're like a couple of dolphins," Benny said.

"And you know how notoriously horny they are," Matt murmured.

Things got friskier from there. Eventually, Benny suggested they go inside the house – or at least relocate to one of the big, loungey deck chairs.

Soon they were ensconced on the deck chair, but their nuzzling and groping wound down.

"Tired?" Benny asked.

"Just not in a hurry," Matt said. "It's nice to cuddle up with you and just... be together."

Benny let himself sink into his husband's arms. A while later, with Matt cradling his head, Benny heard his husband sigh.

"You okay?" Benny asked.

"You gonna come home soon?" Matt said.

"What do you mean?"

"Is Benny gonna end up in Los Angeles some day and meet a nice, lonely producer? Or does he have to go to Patagonia and Mongolia and Tibet and Borneo first?"

Benny laughed. "I've gotten sucked up into my head, you're saying."

"You do tend to disappear into your work," Matt told him.

"I hope you don't mind too much. It's hard to get into the zone these days. The country's so fucked up... and it's not going to get better. And I think maybe we should make like Benny and... and go somewhere safe."

"Like where?"

"Like anyplace that respects us as human beings, respects us as a family. Getting into Benny's world, it just... it's not perfect, but it makes me feel like there are still possibilities."

"There's always Canada," Matt suggested. "Production costs are cheaper there, too."

They were quiet a while longer.

"Is it really that hard for you to focus on your writing?" Matt asked.

"More and more. Maybe part of it is I'm starting to feel like everything I've been doing lately has lapsed into formula. I want to do something different, something more challenging – but then this movie thing come along, and that's super-exciting. The downside is, I'm pretty sure you're right: There's gonna be a market for more books if a movie really does get made."

"Can you do something to reinvent the series? Make it more of the same, only fresher?"

"Actually... that's what I've been thinking about," Benny told him. "And I think I've decided how to do it. It's just like you were saying. After I finish the last tweaks on 'Benny in Belgium,' our boy is going to Rotorua fo r'Benny in the South Seas.' "

"I thought it was 'Benny in Portugal' now?" Matt said.

"I'm changing it back," Benny said. "I like the title 'Benny in Belgium' better. I find alliteration to be alluring."

"Yeah," Matt said, nuzzling him. "So Benny's adventures continue. But back to my question: What about Allan? Is he gonna be home soon?"

"Very soon," Benny told him.

***

Benny and Janusz lay side by side in the big wood-framed bed. Most of the rooms in the apartment were on the small side, and much of the furniture followed suit; the bedroom and the bed were the exceptions. That suited them both, since neither of them liked to be crowded.

But now Benny shut his book, set it on the night table, and made his way over to his husband's side of the bed.

"What's all this?" Janusz said, looking amused, his eyes peering happily over his half-moon reading glasses.

Benny tugged Janusz into his arms. "I've been thinking about retirement, too..."

"You'll never retire," Janusz told him. "You'll be a criminology consultant no matter where we go, and you'll never want to stop solving mysteries."

"No, but it might be nice to settle in a place."

"We're settled here," Janusz noted.

"But I can't really see us staying in Lisbon forever."

"Lisbon?"

Benny laughed. "Slip of the tongue. I meant Liège, of course."

"So, you want to go to New Zealand?"

"Doesn't it sound romantic? Janusz and Benny meet in Poland, go to France, move to the United States, and then take trips to different places around the world, only to end up living in Liège... and then, voilà – New Zealand!"

Janusz laughed. "You're incurably romantic."

"It must be the result of who I married," Benny said, snuggling into his husband's chest with kisses, "and how he's given me such an incredible adventure."

Things got frisky from there. The reading lights went out, and the night glowed with passion.

Lying in the darkness later on, as if making sure, Janusz asked, "So, you want to go to Rotorua?"

"I do."

Janusz tucked Benny into his arms, spooning him close. There would be no lying across the bed from each other tonight. "Then it's New Zealand ho," he whispered.

"I meant it," Benny whispered back. "Thank you for all the adventures we've had."

"Thank you," Janusz replied, "for all the adventures to come."

***

They slipped back into the pool, partly to shake off the drowsiness that had started to creep over them and partly for Matt to get in the rest of the day's quota of laps. Benny clung to the side of the pool and watched as Matt swam. When he was done, Matt joined him.

"I apologize," Benny... No, Allan told himself, come out of it, now...

"I apologize," Allan told his husband. "I know I haven't been very good company. But I think I can stop second-guessing the book now. And I think I have the story more or less worked out for the next one, too."

"That's good," Matt said. "This town is all about sequels."

They climbed out of the pool and headed into the house. Matt took a brief, hot shower, but Allan didn't mind the pool water. They used hydrogen peroxide instead of chlorine.

When Matt joined him in bed, he was ready to resume the fun they'd been having earlier. "You are never gonna need Viagra," Allan told him.

As he made love to his husband, Allan thought about Janusz. He never wrote any sex scenes in the books, of course, but if he did... or if he wrote Janusz into a book designed to be more literary than the mystery adventure series he was known for... how would he describe Janusz? How would he talk about what he liked to do and have done? Would he model that version of Janusz on Matt? Or on Edgar?

Janusz had always been based on Edgar to a large extent. Edgar had been a straight friend Allan had a crush on all throughout his time at college, and though nothing had ever happened between them... nothing ever could happen between them... Allan had still been in love with Edgar when he met Matt.

It was funny, he thought, how he loved Matt and had no regrets about their life together, but he still missed Edgar; still wondered sometimes about what their life might have been like, if...

If Edgar had been different. If life had been different.

But where life could not take you, fiction would serve. Maybe he should write a novel that explored the things he used to daydream about – the life with Edgar that would be so easy to invent and idealize. A very carefully written novel.

Gay sex scenes in published material was a daydream in its own right nowadays. The "No Homo Promo" and "Don't Say Gay" laws being what they were, any publisher who allowed such passages in their books would be open to lawsuits from private citizens in more than half the states in the union, and Allan, as the author, could end up accused of everything from obscenity to sexual assault... potentially hundreds of thousands of counts, pertaining to people he had never met, and never would. "Assault" these days simply meant saying or doing anything that offended the ruling Christian Nationalists and their adherents.

Closer to home, Allan he suspected Matt wouldn't much appreciate it if he lavished too much erotic detail on the character of Janusz; it was clear to Matt that Janusz was a fictionalized version of Edgar. And that, Allan thought, is why Matt might say he wants to read all my books, but he never does.

Matt would probably always be a little bit jealous of Edgar; the laws were sure to get more draconian over time, just as they had in Russia, and Poland, and Hungary. But for now, Allan could still explore the thin line between biography and fiction in the sanctity of his own mind.

For now.

Allan's ruminations fell away when Matt made a noise that meant he was getting close. Then he groaned, barked, gasped. His hot, pungent essence splashed over Allan's tongue, and Allan swallowed.

"I'm home now," Allan told his husband a while later. The two were relaxed, wrapped around each other, content. "I hope you weren't too lonely."

"I married a writer. It's part of your process," Matt said gently. "And it could be worse; you should see what some of the actors I work with do to get into character."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Well, I'm sorry all the same."

"It's okay," Matt told him. "I understand."

"It's just that I go so deep into my imagination..." Allan sighed. "I forget myself."

Matt chuckled and gave Allan a light kiss. "I don't mind," he said, "just as long as... eventually... you remember me."

From this week's happy ending of blissful concord we swing, next time, into the morass of a relationship riven by jealousy – a jealousy so hot it threatens to unravel reality itself. We'll paint a pretty portrait indeed as we invite you to "Picture This."