Avery and Jack’s Domestic Bliss… Take Three

The first apartment that Billy took Jack and I to view was in a modern hi-rise situated right in the heart of the Loop. It had two bedrooms—we’d decided that Jack needed a home office—one and a half baths and a balcony. Jack loved it. Then again, Jack would love anything. Melrose Park… Irving Park… shoebox in the City with Avery.

“We’re do we go for late night munchies?” I asked. Although the Loop is the heart of downtown Chicago, the blocks surrounding this building were dead after business hours. Next.

Billy took Jack and I to see more apartments: River North, Gold Cost, South Loop, New East Side, but I was displeased with any of them: too small, an awkwardly shaped room, ugly bathroom tile, shag carpeting left over from an era before my time. Each was lacking something—that va-va-voom—I was searching for.

After the seventh showing, Jack became frustrated. “Just pick,” he would yell at me. He couldn’t understand that I didn’t want to settle. This apartment was more than a cot and a squat. This apartment represented the next step in our lives together. It would be the foundation to our future. One day, when we were old and gray, we’d tell our grandkids with great pride all about the first home we’d built together.

 A few days after seeing the last apartment, I received a call from Billy. “Come immediately,” he said excitedly. “I’ve found the perfect place for you and Jack.”

The doorman, who introduced himself as Sims, smiled as he led us to the elevator. Billy educated us on the buildings history as we rode up to the 14^th floor. This was a condominium unit owned by a man who’d moved to St. Louis for work. He’d wanted to sell it, but, as a result of his need to relocate immediately, was open to a rent to own situation.

Our jaws dropped when we entered the apartments. The space was so large and open, and the kitchen and bathrooms were newly remodeled. Nothing but miles and miles of blue Lake Michigan could be seen through the wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling windows that lined each room. It felt as though we were sitting on top of the world. We were home.

These memories raced through my mind as I waited for our landlord to answer the telephone. I prayed with each ring that he wouldn’t answer. Although I’d (barely) accepted that Jack and I were over, I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving this place.

With that thought, I hung up the telephone. Jack gave me a strange look. Did the landlord not answer? It wouldn’t have mattered had the landlord answered. In that split second, I’d decided that I was not leaving the apartment. 

Avery and Jack’s Domestic Bliss… Take Two

Jack and I had no clue as to how to begin our apartment search. He, the quintessential suburbanite, has no preference or concept as to which neighborhood would be appropriate for us. Although saddened at the prospect of losing my once perfect bachelor pad, I was eagerly looking forward to accomplishing a goal I’d set for myself as a little kid growing up in Oak Brook. I wanted to move downtown.

“But, Avery,” you’re all saying to yourself, “You lived in the West Loop. That’s downtown.”

You are correct. The West Loop is downtown, but the West Loop wasn’t the downtown I envisioned long ago. I wanted to be surrounded by the city’s tallest buildings. I wanted to step right outside my door and have no delay when hailing a taxi. I wanted to be walking distance to Michigan Avenue, Lake Michigan and all those other points of interest that we native Chicagoans make fun of tourists for loving.

“Sure. Whatever,” said Jack.

After all of my work with Dr. Drexel Carrington, I now have to wonder if Jack cared at all. As I said before, I believe his true motivation for “shaking up” with me was so he did not have to move in with his mother in Melrose Park or his dads in Irving Park. At the time, I gave this no thought. I was moving on up!

Through a friend’s referral, we connected with an amazingly friendly—and dreamy—real estate agent named Billy. Billy stood about six feet tall, had ocean blue eyes and spoke in a soothing baritone. His red hair sat messily on top of his head in a way that can only be achieved with the help of a $300 stylist and lots of product. Don’t cha just love a ginger?

“If it’s downtown you want,” Billy said, “then its downtown you’re going to get.”

With those words, we set out to find new diggs for Jack and me. We set out to find an apartment that met both of our needs. We set out to find a building that offered every amenity we desired—central air, a dishwasher and a doorman. We set out to build a home that would be overflowing with the most important amenity:

Love.

Avery Recites a Mantra… or Two

Jack and I stood face-to-face in front of the refrigerator. I froze. When I was young, my uncle in Milwaukee would take me and my cousins on camping trips. Before we ventured out into the wild, he would always remind us how to behave should we encounter a large predator.

“Remember,” Uncle Heinrich (the women—and 10% of the men—in my family are really into German guys. More about that later) would say. “Stand completely still. Sudden movements could lead to an unfortunate situation.”

Although we never had to put that lesson into practice, I’ve never forgotten it. Perhaps I was channeling it that morning. Perhaps if I stood completely still, Jack wouldn’t notice me. He’d graze right past me, through the kitchen and into the abyss (or suburbs) from whence he came.

No such luck.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” he said to me. I figured the safest thing to do was to answer his question with another question.

“Why aren’t you at work?”

“I spent last night at a friend’s, and  took the day off so we could continue our conversation. Figured you’d have cooled off by know.”

I stifled the string of expletives that languished on my tongue. Now was not the time to begin another fight. What was that saying that Whitley Gilbert on “A Different World”, used to repeat? “Relax, relate, release.”

“I’ve spoken with my father,” Jack continued. “I’m moving in with him and Stan.”

I haven’t told you this, but, by this point, Jack’s father Rodney and his domestic partner Stan has long moved from Irving Park to a quaint little bungalow in—are you ready for this—Berwyn. Jack was leaving me, the cats and our fabulous condominium with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Navy Pier to live with two middle-aged wannabe Village People in BERWYN? I needed a drink.

He continued his telling me his plans as I headed for the bar. He’d been thinking a lot about the fact that we’d signed a contract on the apartment (Good to know!). He’d decided that we should speak to our landlord. Maybe he’d let us out of the contract if we could find another buyer (Get real!). If not, Jack’s okay with buy the place and living as—you’ll need to sit down for this—roommates.

Relax, relate, release.

“I’ll take care of it, Jack.” Those five words had become my mantra. You might even say it was the slogan of our relationship. I’ve taken care of everything since the beginning, so there’s no reason I should stop now that were almost at the finish line. No one likes a quitter.

I reached for the telephone and began dialing the landlord. How would I possibly explain this predicament to him? 

Avery and the Junk Drawer

After dessert, Jack, Rodney, Stan and I retreated to the back porch for drinks. Over the next few hours, I learned a lot about their family, particularly the acrimonious breakup of Jack’s parents. Seemingly out of the blue, Rodney came home one day and told his wife that he was gay. With few other words, he packed his bags and left her for a flight attendant named Stanley.

I suddenly realized that the chilly reception I received from Jack’s mom had nothing to do with me. There was not a doubt in my mind that Jack’s announcement of, “Hi, mom, I’m gay and this is my boyfriend—See you later!” brought back many unhealed memories of her failed marriage. Poor woman. Poor, poorly dressed woman.

Having long aged out of his twinky-stewardess phase, Stan had moved on to a new career. He gushed when he learned that I was a nurse, because he too now worked in medicine.

“You’re a nurse?” he asked with a wild bewilderment usually reserved for those about 25 years younger than he.

“Yes,” I said proudly, “a pediatric nurse.” (Jasper swears that I think I was Julia in a former life)

“How exciting,” he squealed, “I’m a medical professional as well. I’m a phlebotomist.” His diction was so perfect you’d think he’d just announced his role as Surgeon General of the United States.

“What’s that?” Jack asked. Why are the cute ones never bright? After explaining that his job is to draw blood, Stan and I discovered that we both worked at the same hospital.

“Maybe I’ll see you on the battlefield, soldier,” he enthusiastically said to me. I doubt it. But it’s a nice sentiment all the same.

By the end of the evening, I’d had too many drinks to consider driving. Rodney invited Jack and I should spend the night. As Jack and I crawled into the living room sofa bed. Rodney and Stan stood in the doorway like too proud parents.

“Good night,” one of them said. “Lubeand condoms are in the kitchen junk draw. Just don’t make too much noise. The neighbors’ll complain.” Huh? And with that, Jack’s fathers turned out the foyer light and retreated to their bedroom.

“Do you like my parents?” Jack asked earnestly. I didn’t know what to think.

“I love them,” I fibbed

“Good,” Jack said, taking me in his arms. “Can’t wait for you to meet my sister. Maybe tomorrow?”

Jack quickly fell into a deep and peaceful sleep. I, however, spent the next hour staring at the ceiling, asking myself over and over again, “What have I gotten myself into?”

Avery Would Like a Manwich, Please

Not to be a snob—shut up, Jasper—but I may have overshot when it came to my contribution to the evening’s pot luck. I’d purchased a smorgasbord of gourmet desserts from Whole Foods Market—tarts, cookies, and other delectable bite-sized delights. In an effort to give a more formal presentation, I plated the treats on a sterling silver service “borrowed” during a visit to my parents’ home in Oak Brook.

Rodney politely smiled and led Jack and me to the dining table. Stanley headed for the kitchen, sterling service in hand. He returned with two platters-full of the evening’s entrée: Sloppy Joes. That’s right. You heard me correctly. And in what I can only assume was an effort to ensure a well-balanced meal, French fries were served on the side. Not a vegetable in sight.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I hadn’t had a Manwich since I was about 10 years old. Even in that instance, it was only because my mother left me with a teenaged sitter who was more occupied with telephoning her boyfriend than my nutritional health. But who am I to judge.
Rodney politely smiled and led Jack and me to the dining table. Stanley headed for the kitchen, sterling service in hand. He returned with two platters-full of the evening’s entrée: Sloppy Joes. That’s right. You heard me correctly. And in what I can only assume was an effort to ensure a well-balanced meal, French fries were served on the side. Not a vegetable in sight.

“Dig in,” proclaimed Rodney.

I looked at my Sloppy Joe which was presented on Chinet atop an orange polyester table cloth. Oh well, I said to myself, When in Rome… or in this case, Milwaukee, circa 1972. I took a bite. OMG. Who knew that loose meat could taste so heavenly? A smile crept across my face. Jack smiled at me in turn.

As I continued to enjoy my Joe, I pondered the idea that these people could potentially become my in-laws. Sure the fashion was awful, the décor hideous and the artery-clogging gastronomical selection lethal, but—save for the awkward introduction between the mother and me—everyone seemed pretty nice. Furthermore Rodney and Stanley—who, it turns out is a retired flight attended (hold all jokes please, more about this tidbit of information later), were both extremely welcoming.

Just as I began to think I could really be at home there, the dinner conversation started. ¿Como se dice, WTF?

Avery Sees That Life is a Frolic and Laughter is Calling

The sun was still shining as I parallel parked in front of the brick three flat. The ride to Jack’s dad’s in Irving Park had been the longest I’d ever taken. Still shaken by my awkward introduction meeting of his mother, I didn’t have anything to say. Jack and I barely uttered two words to one another.

Avery Visits the Grand Duchy of Wal-Martia

I can only imagine what this woman, Jack’s mother, must have been thinking as we stared into each other’s eyes. Only moments had passed since Jack came out of the closet and announced me as his boyfriend. Ironically, she dressed as though she should be the one coming out of the closet. In addition to her stonewashed jeans and Walmart button-down, Jack’s mother sported a store-bought perm that was poorly died a still unidentified shade of light brown. I must’ve looked like an alien to her. An impeccably dressed, well-coiffed, gay alien who’d come to steal her child.

Avery’s Beautiful Laundrette

As I said before, Jack is younger than I. When we met, he was a college student home for summer break. We became inseparable after taking in that first movie. A week later, he invited me to dinner at his father’s home. I know. We moved really fast.