A Love Song for the Sad Man in the White Coat Read online

  Simon looked at Marta, trying to smile. “Don’t worry. I was tired. I overreacted.”

  “No, I should have thought of it. I’m moving out in five days. I should have known you’d want to spend Saturday evening together. You counted on me, and I let you down.”

  Simon hugged her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her temple. Half of his colleagues believed they were engaged. He didn’t care what people thought, but he knew that at least one of Marta’s relationships dissolved because the man couldn’t deal with Simon and Marta’s closeness. She was right to move on. He knew that. Rationally.

  “It’s not like you’re leaving the city. We can have dinner every Saturday if we want to.”

  She reciprocated the chaste kiss, pressing her lips to his jaw. “Will Andrea be there, too?” Marta often inquired about Simon’s sort-of mentor and colleague. Andrea was the only motherly figure left in Marta’s life. At nineteen, with no biological family close, Marta had been promptly adopted by Simon’s circle of friends. As parents and siblings went, Andrea and Lukas were more than good enough, Simon thought.

  “Maybe. It’s Lukas’s party,” he said. “I have no idea who else he’s invited or even why.”

  “I wonder what’s going on. He was rather cryptic on the phone.”

  They would have had trouble finding the bar had Simon not been there before. There was no sign on the sidewalk, no significant entrance—only stairs that led below street level and a little neon light in the dusty window saying simply “Bar.”

  “What is this place?” Marta muttered.

  “It’s a cocktail bar. They’re really good, I promise.”

  The cellar was illuminated by candlelight and a few Edison bulbs above the bar counter, making the faces of the visitors glow yellow. It had atmosphere—low armchairs, small vintage-looking wooden tables—it breathed the fifties Prague esthetics. Simon’s favorite part of the interior was a large bookcase holding every Terry Pratchett paperback to have ever been translated into Czech, and even some poetry. Simon had stayed until closing the last time he was here, drinking something absinthe-based and reading poems from Václav Hrabě.

  In contrast to his earlier disgust with the stench and dirt, he felt his love for the city swell in his chest again. The dusk was merciful to all faces, even to the ancient dame Prague.

  Everybody was already there. They’d pushed two tables together. Simon’s gaze landed on Mike first, so young and carefree. Happy. Simon couldn’t help but notice the difference between Mike and Lukas with his calm, almost stern features, his slight, fragile posture, his wise, gentle eyes hidden behind professional-looking frameless glasses, his pale face becoming more wrinkled, adding character to his already sarcastic smile…

  Lukas was solid, older than his thirty-seven years in both appearance and personality. Responsible. His young boyfriend was none of those things, though he was intelligent; Simon had to give Mike that. But he was also a twenty-five-year-old floater—a backpacking Australian, fresh out of university, tanned, with a Colgate smile, sun-bleached hair, and a lanky, admittedly hot body. He was a restless, energetic youth who had moved in with Lukas only three months after meeting him, and would inevitably leave again. He’d been in Prague for more than a year now, and Lukas seemed blissfully happy.

  Simon could see the impending loss and heartbreak as if it were a car crash happening in slow motion in front of his eyes. He could do nothing to stop it. In the beginning, he’d tried talking to Lukas countless times, warning him against the ill-advised affair. But Lukas wouldn’t have it. They’d argued, Lukas had become angry and turned the argument against Simon. So, Simon dropped it.

  Seeing them again tonight—Lukas’s hand on Mike’s knee where the young man clutched it with both of his, the two of them laughing at something Andrea had said—Simon’s mood soured quickly. Didn’t anybody else see it? Was he the only sane person here? Even Andrea, who was the oldest of their mismatched lot, the woman both he and Lukas respected the most, seemed blind toward the dangerous imbalance of Lukas and Mike’s relationship.

  Marta slipped past Simon and hugged Mike awkwardly in his sitting position. The Australian bussed her cheeks theatrically. Simon’s upper lip twitched, but he contained his expression. He locked eyes with Lukas and nodded, forcing a smile. Lukas tilted his head questioningly but said nothing. They wouldn’t hear each other, anyway, over the chatter of Marta, Andrea, and Mike.

  Simon sank into an armchair and rested his head back. The first drink couldn’t come soon enough. They hadn’t ordered yet because Lukas claimed he had already taken care of it; Simon poured himself a small glass of water from the carafe on the table, if only to have something to do with his hands.

  “So, what’s the occasion?” Marta asked, sitting next to Simon, Andrea on her left. She grinned, clapping her hands together. Simon sipped his water.

  Mike looked at Lukas, whose gaze, for some reason, flickered to Simon. It made Simon nervous.

  “We thought we’d wait for the drinks to arrive, at least,” Lukas said slowly, Mike’s gaze adoringly glued to his face.

  “Guys, please,” Andrea sighed in mock annoyance. “Just spit it out.”

  Lukas bit his lip, bending his head and looking down at his knees, but the wide grin spreading across his face was perfectly obvious. Simon’s stomach lurched. He should have seen it coming.

  Mike tightened his hands around Lukas’s, shifting in his seat. His gaze nervously swept over their faces.

  “We’re getting married.”

  Silence.

  Lukas still looked down at their joined hands, still grinning.

  “Well, not married, obviously, since it’s not legal,” Mike corrected. “We’re registering. And we want to make a thing out of it. So…we wanted to tell you first. We even have a date.”

  The silence continued.

  Marta was first to wake up. She jumped up from her chair and threw her arms around both guys, giving an undignified squeal.

  A car crash in slow motion. The dummies lurched, airbags exploded, glass shattered. And all Simon could do was sit there, helpless.

  He looked at Andrea, seeking an ally. He was disappointed. While stunned speechless, Andrea was still smiling brightly. Her fingers touched her mouth, and to his disgust, Simon saw a hint of wetness in her eyes.

  He breathed hard, suddenly aware of his hands clutching the armrests. As if he could feel his gaze, Simon locked eyes with Lukas over Marta’s shoulder.

  Lukas’s eyes were pleading—for understanding and support, for kindness and patience. Simon could read all those things and understood them, but he couldn’t find it in himself to pretend.

  He felt heat on his neck and scratched at it, then tugged at his ear.

  The pressure in his chest made the words spew out of his mouth—too harsh. “You’re serious,” he said in Czech, thus excluding Mike, who still struggled with the complex language and barely understood a word, especially if they spoke fast. Lukas’s face was blank with surprise for a moment.

  Marta turned, straightening up. “Simon, please don’t ruin this,” she said, also in Czech. Mike leaned from behind her, his eyes flitting between the four of them in confusion.

  “Yes, we are serious,” Lukas replied loud and clear in his studious, international English. “When Mike is present, you will speak English.”

  Simon braced himself, clenched his teeth together so he didn’t say anything else. He didn’t have to. Lukas kept his composure, but he could read Simon as well as Simon had read him.

  “This is not about you,” Lukas said, his lips in a grim line. Simon saw the sadness and disappointment. He should have pretended, hugged them, wished them well. Why couldn’t he find it in himself to at least be polite?

  “No. It’s about him being the wanderlust king,” Simon said, realizing instantly how hurtful he was being. However, as if he were tumbling down a hill, he couldn’t change the direction he was headed.

  “He is right here!” Lukas raised his voice, b
ut Simon refused to look at Mike. He rolled his eyes and exhaled—

  A chair scraped the floor, the sound making him cringe. Mike towered over him suddenly, his kind, youthful face a grimace of fury. He threw his arm out, pointing toward the stairs.

  “Outside!” he spat.

  “Mikey!” Lukas tried to catch his boyfriend’s wrist, but Mike stepped out of reach. Standing above Simon, he waited, his nostrils flared.

  “Not going to punch him, don’t worry,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Boys, you’re making a scene.” Andrea sounded tired, almost bored.

  Marta didn’t react in any way, seemingly dumbfounded.

  Simon couldn’t help his lips twitching in a barely there smile. Deep down, he was thrilled Mike had confronted him. Somebody had to. Like an angry toddler, Simon sometimes ached for a fight, for someone to shout at him, beat some sense into him. Unfortunately, his friends were not the kind of people to solve problems physically. Maybe they should try it… Another smirk broke out at that thought. Dr. Simon Mráz getting into a street fight. Yeah, right.

  He stood slowly, following Mike up the stairs and onto the darkened street. It was Sunday, nine in the evening. The street was empty except for a small family of tourists who slowly wandered toward the bright lights of Wenceslas Square flickering in the distance.

  Mike walked a few steps away from the bar and put his hands on his hips. He took a deep breath, his broad, square shoulders lifting.

  “You’re not going to mess this up for us.”

  Simon couldn’t help it; he laughed.

  “Mike, this is not just some party you’re planning. It’s a commitment for life. And he means it.” Simon pointed toward the bar’s small dark windows, barely at their knee level.

  “I do, too!” Mike shouted. “You think I don’t know that? He loves me! That gentle, wonderful, absolutely fucking genius man chose me! And guess what? I adore him. I—”

  “Please, spare me.”

  “Just because you’re unhappy, you have to make everybody else miserable, too?”

  Well, kind of. But that wasn’t it. Simon wasn’t that petty.

  “I genuinely worry about Lukas. Like he said himself, it has nothing to do with me.” Simon tried to slow down and lower the volume of their exchange.

  Mike wouldn’t have it.

  “It has everything to do with you! I know about Marta’s brother. Well, I’m not that guy. I worry about Lukas. I worry about you hurting him, making him insecure. I even worry about Lukas losing your friendship! He wants you to be his best man. So pull your head out of your ass and be there for him!”

  Simon flinched, his fists balling up without him having any control over it. The mention of Matěj was a blow to his stomach. Especially, since he hadn’t made that connection. He’d never compared Mike to Matěj. Honestly, he hadn’t.

  His short loss of words was enough to calm Mike down.

  “I love it here. I’m not leaving,” he said gently, stepping closer to Simon. His tone was almost pleading now. “I talked to my mum, and she knows I’m staying in Prague for the foreseeable future. I found a stable job, I pay half of our rent, and I’ve been trying to convince Lukas to get us a dog. I’m at home here.” He patted his chest with his hand.

  Simon couldn’t help but feel a little impressed by the young man’s eloquence when it came to his feelings. Mike was not ashamed to show emotion. To announce it, even. Simon found it equally cringe-worthy and admirable.

  “Loving Lukas makes me finally feel right inside. I’m at peace with myself for the first time in my life.” You’re twenty-five! What do you know about inner peace? “You don’t have to like the hearts and flowers, but you aren’t allowed to make Lukas feel bad or I will cut your good ear off, I swear.”

  Simon chuckled, his hand automatically lifting toward his scarred ear. He tugged at it. “Mike…” he began, not really settling on what he was about to say. He battled with both awe and ridicule. This beautiful young man just professed his eternal love and devotion for Simon’s best friend… And Simon felt…old. Ancient. “Mike,” he said again, looking for something kind, something normal to say. “I like you. I want to believe you—”

  “But that’s just it! It’s not up to you! Do you understand? Whether you believe me or not is completely irrelevant. Lukas knows me. Do you seriously think he’d say yes if he didn’t trust it would work between us?”

  That was a good question. Simon could see it now. He hadn’t compared Mike to Matěj; he’d compared Lukas to himself. Simon had been the one to lose his judgment, to stop listening to reason. He’d once let himself be guided by his heart…and by his dick. He’d made a mistake.

  It seemed Lukas was nothing like the fool Simon had once been.

  He lifted his head and squinted at Mike. The young man was shorter than him—most people were—but only by a few centimeters. He was waiting, his cheeks still tinted with pink, his hands on his hips. He was braced for an argument, ready to fight for the whole night if necessary, so sure of himself, convinced of his truth. Simon deflated. There was no point. He could gripe and moan, he could accuse and rant—it wouldn’t change anything. He was the odd one here.

  “I apologize,” he sighed, the words bitter on his tongue. He needed to go home and be alone.

  Mike’s eyebrows rose almost comically; he’d obviously expected Simon to continue with his apology. When Simon didn’t, Mike frowned. “You apologize,” he repeated and spluttered out a laugh. “That was…easy.” His toned, tanned arms flailed in an exaggerated shrug.

  “Yes, I was out of line,” Simon said calmly.

  Mike tilted his head to the side, watching him suspiciously from the corner of his eye. He opened his mouth and shut it again, sighing audibly. “You unnerve me, man. You never do what I expect you to do.”

  “I apologize even for that. Shall we go back? Before Lukas comes here to rescue you,” Simon added with a smile.

  Mike just shook his head disbelievingly and turned toward the stairs. “I don’t trust you,” he muttered over his shoulder, but it felt like a good-natured ribbing. Simon put a hand on Mike’s shoulder, and they entered together.

  Simon would apologize to Lukas, too, finish his drink, and go home. He could even go running. He sensed he’d need that tonight.

  He took the coward’s option and waited until Marta was in the bathroom. Then he quickly made his excuses and left.

  ***

  Simon stuck to his rituals, hoping gradually to detach the painful memories from the activity itself. Like running. During the short months he’d spent with Matěj years ago, they’d run together. It became something else to Simon then. It was one of those opportunities when he could really look at Matěj. His single most enjoyable visual memory was Matěj running. He was lighter in build than Simon, only a little shorter, his body leaner, sinewy. He was very smooth in his movements, strong yet fluid, and always radiating untamed energy—the sight of pure beauty and tantalizing, erotic perfection.

  These days, Simon’s regular run was a lonely pursuit. He slowed down at the foot of the steep incline, saving his energy for the next three kilometers. He focused on his arms, correcting the angle and loosening his fingers, shaking them out rhythmically. It was dark; it still felt too warm during the days, so Simon tried to plan his runs for early mornings or late evenings, when the streets were almost deserted. Only the insomniac dog walkers appeared here and there.

  He reached the top of the hill, feeling his lungs burn, and slowed even more but then lengthened his stride and gained speed again, letting the pleasurable pain flow through his muscles. It cleared his brain like nothing else. He felt completely alone and reveled in the privacy. That was when he let the haunting thoughts flow freely through his head, opening the iron vault that weighed him down.

  His relationship with Matěj had been a mistake from the beginning, but there was literally no choice involved on his side. He was robbed of his usual rationality where that man was concerned, bre
aking all the rules and ignoring propriety.

  Matěj had been his student, several important years younger, absolutely off limits. The first time Simon saw him at the clinic and blatantly stared at him, he was scared by his own lack of control. He was fascinated by Matěj’s witty rudeness, the expressive silvery-blue eyes, his restlessness. The young man was always moving, always the center of attention. His bad attitude was commented on by other research assistants and even professors, making his road to higher education steep and full of sharp turns. The carved wooden gauges in his ears and the extensive tattoo on his arm did not make matters easier—especially as he very rarely bothered to hide the ink like many of his more adaptable co-students did.

  Simon watched his handsome young student during the semester, trying not to be obvious about it while cataloguing tiny details, smiling to himself when Matěj covered his sharp intellect with rude comments. Then, one day, Matěj managed to smuggle a note to Simon—during an exam, no less. It was only a single short sentence, and Simon was lost. He remembered gritting his teeth when he texted Matěj back, warning lights glaring behind his eyes. But the pull was too strong. He wanted to explore and analyze it, find out the reason why, and keep it alive for as long as he could.

  By the end of the same week, Simon had been completely out of control, risking his hard-earned reputation just to feel Matěj’s skin against his for a couple of hours. Simon’s insides clenched painfully and he tried not to think about the details—the inimitable ecstasy of touching, having someone he craved with all his being. The memories overwhelmed him once again; he pushed forward harder, his feet slapping against the concrete like a metronome.

  Simon was already in too deep when the bits and pieces of Matěj’s background began coming to light. The bruises on his temple and throat had been the first warning. Matěj had claimed he’d been in a fight with a drunk. It had been a month later when Simon had found out the drunk was Matěj’s father.

  Simon had been livid when he’d seen Matěj dealing with his family situation by extensive partying. He hadn’t minded the smoking; he used to have a friendly on-and-off relationship with marijuana himself. But the ecstasy pills, the clubbing, and superficial flirting with both sexes seemed to drive Matěj farther away from him. Still, Simon saw him any time he could; as cliché as it sounded, Simon had never felt anything like that with anyone else.